


It's The End

by Unstoppablei



Series: The End of the World as We Know It [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angels are Dicks, Angst and Humor, Canon with a twist, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel Does Not Understand, Dean's PTSD, Drinking, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, Lots of guns, Non-Explicit Sex, One Big Angry Family, Parental Bobby Singer, Post-Hell Dean, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Slow Burn, alternate season 4, long chapters, secrets and lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4464671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unstoppablei/pseuds/Unstoppablei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eli Grant has dealt with angels before. She knows they're nothing but hammers, unfeeling brutes in human suits who do nothing but sneer and call her Abomination as they shape the world to their unknowable agenda.</p><p>Still, they have something she wants, so when they ask her to play bodyguard to the two hunters who might just be able to stop the end of the world, she says yes.</p><p>She couldn't have known it would bring her closer to the one angel she can't help but think of as a person, despite everything she's learned. She couldn't have known it would change the course of the Apocalypse. She couldn't have known it was all a trap.</p><p>Shit. She should never have taken this job.</p><p>  <em>(Alternate Season 4)</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sailor Moon Meets the Hardy Boys

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old series, published first on Fanfiction.net. I'm moving it over here as Archive has become my new haunt and I'd love for fresh eyes to see it. Comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> This is an alternate Season 4, beginning directly after "Yellow Fever." It was originally 20 chapters but I decided to combine many chapters into full 'episodes' to shorten posting time, hence the varying chapter lengths. Full disclosure, I stopped watching Supernatural around season 7, so if something here ends up conflicting with a later canon that's why. I still hold a deep, deep love of seasons 1-5 of Supernatural, but after that it went a bit off the rails and in the end I felt better contenting myself with reruns than new episodes.
> 
> Note: Eli is pronounced Ee-lye. Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

 

  
_  
"…So then he says, 'my mother-in-law is a demon,' and of course he doesn't realize he's in a bar full of hunters…"_

Bobby Singer's muffled voice drifted out of the open window, along with the snorts of someone laughing. Dean heard it and tapped Sam's shoulder, holding his finger to his lips. Behind them sat the Impala, freshly washed and gleaming a dull black in the mid-afternoon sunlight.

"Dean, we are not going to eavesdrop on Bobby's private conversation," Sam hissed.

"Oh yeah? Then why are you whispering?" Dean countered, nudging Sam with his elbow. He immediately answered his own question. "'Cause you're curious. Since when does Bobby have visitors? When does Bobby tell _jokes?_ "

Sam merely look exhausted, his head dropping down onto his chest, his eyes briefly closing. They had driven all night and sleep still hung heavy in their eyes, but Dean was trying desperately to rally. He was used to no sleep now anyway, using forced cheerfulness to steer attention away from the fact that he slept in fits and starts, that lines were sprouting around his eyes and that his smile was just a little bit empty. The knowledge of his time in hell was still buzzing around the brothers with the weight of unspoken words.

At that moment, however, there was merely sun, the tinted leaves of fall, the smell of the salvage yard and the hope for beer or at least coffee inside of the house. "I'm knocking," Sam said in a determined voice, pushing the hair from his forehead and turning back to the door.

_"…and he's been drinkin', of course, and suddenly the whole bar is listening and when one of them asks if he's smelled rotten eggs lately he says, 'what, like her rancid feet?'"_

_"Oh, fuck, Bobby…you have to stop,"_ a woman's voice gasped between fits of laughter. _"I'm... I can't breathe…"_ The laughter started again, unladylike snorts and chuckles.

"Dude, it's a chick," Dean breathed, beaming, latching on to a familiar mindset. "Bobby's got a girl in there!"

Sam shook himself out of his stupor, his hand still raised. "I don't care, I'm knocking," he said again, and this time pounded his fist against the wood.

The sound of heavy boots on old floorboards headed their way. Dean closed his eyes and muttered, as if in prayer and in part to piss off his brother: " _Please let her be hot, please let her be hot_."

"I can hear you, you know," Bobby's voice rang out. The chipped door swung opened to reveal his bearded face, genial with the hint of a smug grin, topped as usual by a dirty baseball cap. "How you boys doin'?"

"Good to see you, Bobby." Sam briefly embraced the older man before stepping into the hallway.

"We're doing fine," Dean said in way of greeting, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as he followed Sam into the house. It was dim inside, and the air smelled of mothballs and car oil and the dirt of old shoes. "Just wondering why we had to drive all night to get here. The world ending?"

"You say that as if it's an ironic statement," a female voice said from the kitchen doorway, sounding vaguely amused.

Dean smirked at the newcomer. "Oh, right. Apocalypse. Keeps slipping my mind."

There was an awkward pause that Bobby didn't seem inclined to break. Sam was finally the one to step forward. "Hi, I'm Sam," he said, walking up to her and holding out his hand. "This is my brother Dean."

"Eli," the woman said, and instead of shaking his hand she pressed an open beer into it.

"You're a friend of Bobby's?" Sam asked, taking a long pull from the beer bottle while Dean looked on jealously. Eli smiled, a lopsided, too-big grin.

"Don't pout, Mr. Winchester," she said, handing Dean the second bottle. "This one's for you. And yeah, I'm a friend of Bobby's. I was his trainee."

"Eli's a hunter," Bobby supplied as they moved into the kitchen, settling themselves around the Formica table. "Damn good one, too."

"Aw, Bobby, you're sweet," she said, rummaging around in the fridge for another beer, which she cracked open with the rusty bottle-opener attached to her belt. She glanced up to see Sam and Dean staring at her suspiciously. "What?"

"You're a hunter?" Dean asked, leaning back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. He wanted to feel...something: flirty, maybe, or smug, but all he could manage was a kind of suspended exhaustion and the beginnings of flickering anger and burning irritation, the desire to lash out.

Eli arched an eyebrow at him. "Yes," she said slowly, a hint of edge in her voice. Dean shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed but not chastened.

"What? I thought you were like…Bobby's niece or neighbor. Hometown girl. Baking cookies or something."

"Blow me," she snapped.

"Well, the hair doesn't help," he pointed out, jerking his chin at the two squashed yellow buns on the top of her head. "And the freckles are frankly adorable. You look like you're 18."

"I'm 25," she growled. "And you're a dick."

Dean continued eyeing her as if she were a bug under a microscope, his eyes tracing the curves of her hips before lingering with a scrutinizing glare on her pretty, if not particularly outstanding girl-next-door features: green eyes, upturned nose bridged by a mass of freckles like tiny orange constellations. She looked like she should be giggling with friends about boys, not dressed in a ratty white t-shirt and cargo pants with military boots and a beer in hand, discussing the end of the world.

"Now that you've finished checking me out," she said in a clipped voice, "can we please get down to business?"

"Right," Sam said loudly in an attempt to quell the rising tension in the room. He rested his elbows on the table, fingers picking with nervous energy at the label of his beer bottle and simultaneously trying not to yawn. He thought, briefly, of the beds upstairs in the spare rooms; even with their constant layer of dust they seemed like heaven, deep and soft. "Bobby, what did you call us for?"

Bobby leaned back and took a drink, distracted. "What? Oh, right. Well, two things really." He held up two fingers. "One," he said, putting the first one down, "I wanted to hear firsthand about how Dean nearly pissed his pants like a little girl while hunting ghosts…"

"I've got a finger of my own for you," Dean barked, flipping him off. Eli let out another unattractive snort.

"And two?" Sam asked. Bobby sighed and put the second finger down with an air of reluctance. "To introduce you to Eli."

There was a long pause. "And why…" Sam started, glancing at the blonde perched on the counter-top, some _uh oh_ feeling already swelling in his stomach.

"Because I'm gonna be coming along with you guys from now on," she said with deceptive sweetness.

"Oh no," Dean said immediately, sitting up straight, his body under the leather jacket clearly tense and ready to fight. He inhaled through his nose, letting the heat of anger wipe away his lethargy. "No. Bobby, what are you thinking? And sorry, Sailor Moon, but we don't need any hangers on. Especially not when we have the fuckin' apocalypse to worry about!"

"One," Eli interrupted, imitating Bobby by holding up two fingers and then slowly putting the first one down. "It's not his idea. He's just a mutual friend and I thought it would make the transition easier for all of us. And two, I'm not a 'hanger on.' I'm here on orders. I'm your bodyguard."

The two men nearly choked into their beers. "I'm sorry, what?" Sam spluttered at the same time Dean snapped: "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Nope," she answered serenely, drinking her beer and swinging her booted feet so that they clunked against the cabinets.

"Then whose idea was this?" Sam asked.

She sighed and hopped off the counter-top. "Who do you think? It was God's."

There was a long pause after her statement. Then Dean asked in a careful voice, as if speaking to a crazy person: "What do you mean, it was God's?"

"Like, God God? With a capital G?" Sam asked, his tone torn somewhere between wariness and excitement.

"Well, not exactly," she said, frowning and staring into her beer bottle as if it contained the divine mysteries of the world. Her fingernails, ragged on callused hands, scraped at the edges of the glass and shook with the faintest tremor. Dean's quick eyes caught the motion, reading it as anxiety smothered by bravado. "More like… angels. God just has a nicer ring to it."

Sam took a step forward, his arms under his blue button-down shirt tense, his mouth hanging open just a little.. "Are you an angel?"

Behind him, Dean nearly breathed the words: _shit, not another freaking angel._

There was a breathless pause. Eli glanced up; her eyes were a shade too dark behind nearly lash-less lids, making her look hollow.

Finally she shook her head. "Sorry to disappoint," she said quietly, "but I'm no angel. Just someone who knows her way around them."

Sam stepped back, visibly deflated. "Oh," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Okay."

"Now come on," Dean snapped, pressing his fingers to his temples and feeling his heart pump beneath the delicate skin. "What does that even mean? You 'know your way around them?' And also, so-the-hell-what? Why would angels send us Barbie's little sister to be a bodyguard? They think we can't handle ourselves?"

"They have their reasons," she said, and then shrugged. "Don't question it."

"Oh, I'm questioning it," he said in a low voice, striding forward and jutting a finger in her face, "because whether or not you're telling the truth, I know I would be the one who ends up saving your ass, and I do not need to look after one more person right now."

"Get. Your finger. Out of. My face," Eli hissed. "You pompous, macho, self-righteous son of a bitch."

Dean straightened up. "Bobby!" he barked, wheeling toward the older man, who had pulled off his baseball cap and was covering his face with his hand in exasperation. When he heard his name he peered at Dean through the cracks in his fingers. "We're talking. Now." Without waiting for a response he marched out of the room.

Sam hesitated for a moment, then followed his brother.

"Jesus H. Christ," Bobby moaned as he stood, his frown nearly hidden in his beard. "I told you this wasn't a good idea, kid. Last time I do you any favors."

Eli let out a sigh, a huffing, impatient sound. "Just… please, Bobby," she said. "It's important."

"You better be right," he muttered, jamming the old hat back on his head and walking away.

The living room was a mess, books heaped on tables, papers scattered across the ancient floor, guns and cartons of salt laying haphazardly on the chairs and windowsills. The windows were grimy and let little light filter in, giving the whole room an other worldly, dust-most clotted effect. The moment Bobby walked in Dean rounded on him. "The hell, Bobby?" he demanded. "You can't be serious!"

"Now you listen to me, boy," Bobby said in his firmest 'father' voice. "I've know Eli for years. I trained her. And she's a good hunter, a damn good hunter. You'd be lucky to have her by your side, now more than ever." He stared at them, hard. "You boys go it alone like you're so tough, like all you need is each other. But sometimes it's okay to accept help."

"But her, Bobby?" Dean asked. "I mean, I'm sure she's good if you say she is, and damn if she doesn't have a great rack, but if we're trying to stop Lilith from releasing _The Fucking Devil_ then don't you think we need someone… burlier? You know." He gestured vaguely to his face. "Tough-as-nails, covered in war wounds, maybe an eyepatch."

"What do you mean, you trained her?" Sam asked before Bobby could shoot another scathing remark at Dean. "Bobby, you don't train anybody."

"Yeah, and what was with the whole God and angels thing? Are we really supposed to believe that angels sent her?" Dean's voice was bitter.

"Both of you, shut up," Bobby snapped, his voice hoarse. "I'm sick to death of your bitching. Now, to answer your question, Sam, yes, I did train her. Came upon her about six years ago. She was in a bad way, and I helped her out. Damn girl was determined to be a hunter and nothing I or anyone else said would stop her. I got roped into training her so she wouldn't run off and get herself killed. Stayed here for nearly two years. She's practically family. You boys should understand that better than anyone." He suddenly stopped and fixed Dean with a death-stare. "So no more comments about her 'great rack', you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," Dean muttered, slightly chastened.

"Now," Bobby said, a bit calmer, though his fingers still twitched and pulled at the edge of his checkered flannel shirt. "I don't know about this angel business. She asked me to introduce her to you two and facilitate this whole thing. I said yes because I believe she can help, and I believe in her."

"But do you really think it's angels?" Sam asked. "More angels?"

"Possibly," Bobby replied simply.

"Why?" Dean demanded.

"Because I think it was angels that first led me to her."

There was a long pause.

"Oh no," Dean said, crossing his arms. "You don't get to lay a statement like that out and not explain it."

"I don't have to explain anything to you, _boy_ ," Bobby snapped in response.

Silence.

Then Sam asked, in a small voice: "Why didn't you tell us about her before?"

"Because it's none of your damn business, that's why." Bobby threw up his arms in frustration. "I need another beer. You two idiots are making me grumpy." He turned and started walking back to the kitchen.

"What if we still don't want her with us?" Dean said, stopping Bobby in his tracks.

He whirled around and marched back over to Dean, stopping an inch away from the beaten leather jacket. "Don't you listen to a word I say?" he said in the tone reserved for when he thought the boys were being especially dense. "She's persistent. Won't take no for an answer. So I figure, you say no now, she'll just follow you and pop up at the most inconvenient time. She's tough to shake. You think I wanted to train some smartass 19-year-old kid in a life that will probably get her killed before her 30th birthday? She wore me down, that's for damn sure. So for everyone's peace of mind, just do it. For me." He took a step back. "Dumb ass."

Then he turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

The two brothers glanced at each other with long-suffering looks upon their faces. They seemed to communicate without speaking: Dean jerked his head toward the kitchen, Sam responded with a tiny shrug of the shoulders and a lift of the eyebrows, then Dean rolled his eyes, shook his head, and raised his palms as if to say, _well what can you do?_ Sam nodded, and they both walked into the kitchen.

Eli was sitting at the table across from a silent Bobby; they were both moodily sipping their beers and furrowing their brows. Dean cleared his throat.

"Because Bobby's such a good friend," he started, "we've decided to agree to your insane plan. You can come with us." He held up a finger. "On a trial basis. The moment I have to save your ass, you're off the team, kapish?"

She stared at him somberly, and then a tiny smile quirked the edge of her lip. "I can't believe you just said 'kapish.'"

"Just get your stuff and get in the damn car," Dean snapped. The threat of sleep still pushed at the back of his eyes but he was angry and he just wanted to be away from that damn house and go somewhere anonymous, where he could sleep in a strange bed and be safe in the fact that no one knew him.

"You know, I'm surprised at you, Dean Winchester," Eli said, rising from the table and dropping her beer in the trash can. She stretched, her back cracking loudly, like tiny gunshots. "With your reputation, I thought you would be nicer to a girl with 'a great rack.'"

Dean stood there with his mouth open for a moment, then he closed it so hard his teeth clicked audibly. "Just… aw, goddamnit." Then he turned and huffed out of the room, shoulders hunched. In the corner, Bobby snickered.

"I guess I should say welcome to the team," Sam said without a smile. He paused. "Just…try not to die, okay?"

He left the room. Eli moved to follow him, then turned and looked at Bobby. "Thank you," she said. "For everything. For not telling them anything."

"Not my place to tell," Bobby said, standing and moving closer to her. He dropped his voice. "You know they'll find out, sooner or later. And when they do, they're gonna be pissed."

"I'll deal with that when I get there." She lifted onto her toes and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Bobby. Really. Just… thanks."

"Don't die on me, girl," he said. "We're in a war here."

"I know, Bobby," she said, with a strange kind of fatalism. "I'm on the front lines."


	2. It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are witches, and everyone is grumpy.

 

 

"So, angels sent you, huh?" Dean asked skeptically.

They were driving down a mostly empty highway in the lingering blue twilight. Outside, the temperature was cooling rapidly, and shadowed pines lined the side of the road, blackened by the encroaching darkness. AC/DC pumped out of the stereo, just loud enough that the three could speak without shouting.

"That's right," Eli said, staring out the window at the landscape of gently rolling hills. She was sleepy; the bump of the highway beneath her, the faded leather smell of the seats and even the slightly dirty, but not unpleasant smell of road and boys and stale food was comforting, like a memory from childhood.

"Why?" Sam asked, craning his head to look at her curled up in the backseat. She had removed her boots and tucked her socked feet up under her body, her leather jacket balled up and cushioning her head against the window. Her squashed buns were gone and now her cornsilk hair spooled in messy waves around her face. Blue shadowed the delicate skin under her eyes, making her look worn and ghostlike.

"And don't fall asleep," Dean ordered, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. He was still exhausted, his fingertips trembling with the effort of staying awake. The car swerved, slightly, and the jolt of adrenaline shook him out of his stupor.

She yawned hugely. "We're at a very important and shitty place in history. Lilith is breaking the seals, too fast and too soon for us to do much about it. Heaven has its hands full stopping the apocalypse, and it seems to think that you two are very important, our best shot at keeping this whole thing from exploding in our faces. I've worked with the bastards before. I guess they thought I could help."

"Glad to see you share my opinion on their general douchiness," Dean said, fiddling with the radio, cranking the music just a little bit louder.

"They're not all harps and halos," Eli agreed.

"Then why do you work for them?" Sam asked, directing his question to the mirror instead of turning around, but dark had rapidly fallen and it was impossible to see her face.

"I'm doing God's work," she said, but in a voice so deadpan it came out harsh and sarcastic.

"Yeah, right," Dean said. He tapped his fingers on the ancient steering wheel in time with the music; beneath the dashboard, he also tapped his toes. "Nobody does anything for nothing, unless you're some kind of fanatic, which honestly, you don't strike me as. Especially not for those dickheads."

"We have a… business arrangement," Eli said carefully.

"Which is?"

"Personal."

Dean snorted. Eli yawned again. Sam turned around in his seat and tried to smile, but it was lost in the dark. "We're almost there."

* * *

The next morning, Dean and Sam dressed in their slightly ill-fitting black suits and fake badges and went to investigate the case of the man who swallowed razorblades in Halloween candy. Sam tried to rouse Eli from her spot on the futon, but she just rolled over and muttered something about how investigations weren't in her job description.

When they got back to the room she had showered and was sitting cross-legged on Dean's bed, feet bare, in jeans with huge holes at the knees and a threadbare sweater, her hair in two wet braids, eating from an open bag of Halloween candy.

"Sleep well, Princess?" Dean asked sarcastically. She glanced up from her book.

"Just wonderfully, honey bear," she replied. "What did you guys find out?"

Dean perched on the edge of his bed and loosened his tie, dipping his hand into the bag of candy by Eli's knee. "Witches," he said, scraping the foil wrapper from the first piece and popping it into his mouth. "Skanky, creepy-ass witches. There was a hex bag at the house."

"Yeah, and not just any hex bag." Sam shrugged off his black jacket and opened a small piece of brown cloth, peering at the contents with narrowed eyes. "This is some weird shit. I'm gonna need to research these ingredients."

"Take your time," Dean said, standing and grabbing the pile of clothes by his bed. "I'm changing and going to check out this Luke Wallace guy and buy some Halloween candy."

"There's a bag right there, and you're eating from it," Sam commented at the same time Eli said: "Get me some Mars Bars, will you?"

"Good girl," Dean said, slapping her on her back. He looked at Sam. "Doesn't bitch about AC/DC, eats like a dude. Takes my shit. Has boobs. I'm starting to think I like her as a traveling companion more than you, Sammy."

"And to think, yesterday you hated me," Eli quipped. Dean grabbed another piece of candy and walked to the bathroom.

"Actually, I was being nice. I just like the boobs." He closed the door just in time to hear the thunk of her shoe against the wood.

In the bathroom, Dean leaned heavy on his hands and stared at his face in the mirror, his smiling slipping. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot and red, the delicate skin around his nose dry and cracked, like all of the moisture was leaking out of his body. He hadn't slept the night before, despite his desire to; he didn't even have to dream for the images to come back to him with the white-hot flare of remembered pain. All it took was closing his eyes, so he kept them open all night, staring at the ceiling.

From outside he heard soft chatter: Sam said something, the chick responded dryly; there was the creaking of bedsprings and shuffling of heavy books. Dean took a deep, shaking breath and started to change. He didn't know why this stranger was suddenly intruding on their lives like she could just waltz in and _belong_ , or what she really wanted, or where all of this was going, but he had the distinct and unsettling feeling that whatever it was, it wasn't good.

He pasted a smile back on his face and opened the door.

* * *

When dealing with witches, death always came in threes. Dean had almost forgotten that, had almost lulled himself into the hope that it would end with a man choking on razor blades in his own house, but then the police scanner picked up the mysterious boiling of a co-ed and he was dragged once more into the chill October air.

Fuck it, he needed a drink.

"How did the investigation go?" Eli asked when they returned. It was nighttime, the moon bright and fat overhead. She had barely moved all day, except to buy a burger at the local diner and pick up more books. They lay scattered around her now like fallen angels, pages fluttered open like wings.

"You know, I still can't figure out why you refuse to come with us," Dean said, shrugging off his FBI jacket and pulling at his tie. "Aren't you shirking your bodyguard duties?"

"I'd just be in your way," she said distractedly, then looked up to see the two staring at her. "What? I know you guys have a system. I'm not here to muck things up for you. I'm just here to help. And come on, I know you don't _want_ me to come."

"Hm," Dean grunted noncommittally. He sank down on the bed and closed his eyes; when he opened them he saw that she was watching him, warily, a strange calculating look that unnerved him. He stared her down until she looked away.

Sam was oblivious to this interaction. "Right, well, here's how the investigation went," he said, tossing the hex bag onto the bed. Eli picked it up, interested. "Found it at the scene of the second murder. How much you want to bet it has the same weird ingredients as the last one?"

"I wouldn't bet against it, that's for sure," she muttered, turning the musty bag around in her hands.

"Did you find anything, research girl?" Dean asked with forced lightheartedness, now kicking off his shiny black shoes and wiggling his socked toes in the air. Eli made a note on a piece of paper, stuck a pencil behind her ear, and nodded.

"I think so. Check this out." She flipped the book she was looking at and handed it to Sam.

Sam scanned the page for a moment, then groaned. "Oh, shit," he muttered.

"What is it?" Dean asked, trying to peer at the page.

"Samhain."

"Mother-fucking Samhain," Eli confirmed, sounded inordinately excited.

"Okay, what? Sam-who?" Dean asked, glancing between the two of them. Sam sat back down in his hard-backed chair and began to read.

" _Three blood sacrifices over three days, the last before midnight on the final day of the final harvest. Celtic Calendar, the final day of the final harvest is October 31st."_ He looked at Dean and handed him the book with its gory etching. "It's for the summoning of Samhain."

" _Mother-fucking_ Samhain," Eli clarified, rising from the bed and balling her hands into fists. "This is _awesome_."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" Dean asked, at the same time Sam blurted out, "How the hell is this awesome?"

"Come on, guys," Eli said, rising from the bed to stand on the tips of her toes. "This is one of the most badass demons ever. The god of Halloween. The damn origin of Halloween. Masks to hide from him, candy to appease him, the whole shebang. This dude is bad-ass in a way you rarely see. He was exorcized hundreds of years ago, the ritual itself can only be performed once every 600 years, and now…we get to kill him."

"You are crazy," Sam said, standing and gesturing wildly with his hands as if unable to express just how crazy she was. "We're talking heavyweight witchcraft. A ridiculously powerful demon. Samhain can even raise his own army. And you want to fight that?"

"Guys, we're hunters," she countered as if he was being stupid. "We hunt evil. I mean, hopefully we'll stop this before the ritual is complete, but if we can't, and he is raised, we'll have destroyed something huge! Don't you want that on your resume?"

"Do you want to die?" Sam snapped.

"Who says I'm going to?" she shot back.

"Yo," Dean said, and they both whipped around to look at him. "Not to interrupt the cat fight, but what exactly do you mean _he can raise his own army_? Raise what, exactly?"

Sam sighed and rubbed his temples. Everything – this room with its stale air, this case, this conversation, this strange hunter with her smart mouth and blithe bravado—was grating on his nerves. His muscles ached for no reason, his legs restless, like he needed to run and run until all of this disappeared behind him. "Dark, evil crap and lots of it, I mean, they follow him around like the Pied Piper."

"So we're talking ghosts," Dean said.

"Yeah."

"Zombies."

Sam nodded distractedly, hands still pressed to his head. "Mm-hmm."

"Leprechauns?"

Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Dean- "

Dean shot him a cheeky grin and waggled his fingers. "Those little dudes are scary. Small hands."

"Like carnies," Eli piped in.

"Oh my God, I'm working with insane people." Sam stood, raising himself to his full height and glaring down at both of them. "Don't you guys get it? Look, it just starts with ghosts and ghouls. This sucker keeps on going, by night's end we are talking every awful thing we have ever seen. Everything we fight, all in one place."

"Not if we stop it," Eli said in a low voice.

Dean gave a short, humorless laugh. "Sam's right, you're one crazy broad. It's gonna be a slaughterhouse."

Eli looked at both of them, hands on her hips, in bare feet and braids. "Not," she repeated firmly, "if we stop it."

* * *

600 –year-old witches, apparently, liked their reincarnations young and hot. Also, apparently, they liked to cheer. This pleased Dean inordinately, a tiny spark of humor and relaxation against the stress pushing down at the muscles in his shoulders and back.

Fuck the beer. Maybe all he really needed was to get laid.

While he and Sam went to the high school to talk to a teacher, Eli wandered off to interview some of the cheerleader's friends. Dean was uncertain if her was annoyed or relieved at her absence. It didn't matter, anyway. She found them only two hours later, having an altercation with a fat astronaut outside of the motel. The kid marched away from them angrily, knocking into her in the process.

"Woah, beware the wrath of astronauts," she said, coming to a stop in front of them. "What did you say to the kid?"

"The truth," Dean said cheekily, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. He rocked back on his heels, the chill October wind messing his carefully spiked hair. "You find anything?"

"Nada," she said as they started to walk to the room. "Same old, same old: _Sweet girl, good student, fun to be around, lots of clubs,_ blah blah blah. You?"

"Nothing," Sam said morosely as he dug in his pockets for the motel keys. "Just one teacher trying to be too hip and an empty apartment."

He entered the room first, and a second later Dean and Eli heard him yell: "Who are you?"

It seemed the angels had arrived.


	3. Angels Are Douchebags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mother Fucking Samhain, y'all

 

 

For Eli, that was the moment that everything stopped being routine, and started being shitty.

They rushed inside. Eli stopped, stunned, only peripherally aware of Dean pushing Sam's gun down and shouting: "Sam, Sam, wait! It's Castiel. The angel." Dean paused, looking to the corner. "Him, I don't know."

Eli glanced at the other man with a sinking feeling in her gut. _Oh, great_. Just what she needed. More insults and thinly veiled threats. _Fuck._ She shrank to the back, shoulders instinctively rising, curling into herself.

Castiel looked hard at Dean, flickered his blue eyes to Eli for just a moment, then finally locked gazes with Sam.

"Hello, Sam," he said in his rough voice, seemingly oblivious to the wonder in Sam's eyes.

"Oh my God," he stuttered, nearly tripping over himself as he approached the angel. His face flushed when he realized his mistake. " Er - uh - I didn't mean to - sorry. It's an honor, really, I - I've heard a lot about you."

He held out his hand, and for a long moment, Castiel just stared at it. Finally Eli hissed, "Shake it!"

Castiel slowly put his hand into Sam's, as if unsure of what exactly was going on. Sam shook it enthusiastically.

"And I, you, Sam Winchester," he intoned solemnly. "The boy with the demon blood. Glad to see you've ceased your extracurricular activities."

"Let's keep it that way," the other angel said in a clipped voice. He was facing the window, dark and imposing with his broad shoulders and bald head.

"Yeah, okay, chuckles," Dean snapped defensively, stepping ever so slightly in front of his little brother, his hands balled into fists and jaw jutting out like a prizefighter.

Finally Castiel turned to her. "Elijah Grant," he said, his tone the same but with the slightest softening of the rough edges. "It is good to see you're doing your job."

Eli blinked, hard, at the sight of those wide blue eyes and characteristically furrowed brow. Suddenly, stupidly, she felt like crying, but she didn't know why. "Hey, Castiel," she croaked out.

"Not very well, though," the other angel said, turning, a thunderous frown on his face. "Not that I am surprised."

Eli bit her tongue. "Uriel," she said curtly, trying to stem the shaking in her hands He was just as she remembered him, a face of stone and granite, with that fleeting, discomforting aura of disgust pulsing from him like a sickness. "How lovely of you to visit."

"Wait a minute," Dean said, holding up his hands and turning to stare at Eli. "First of all, you _know_ these guys? And second, your name is _Elijah_?"

"My parents thought they were having a boy, okay?" she muttered defensively.

"We don't have time for this," Castiel said. "The raising of Samhain, have you stopped it?"

"Why?" Dean asked petulantly. Castiel shot him an exasperated look, which for him meant a slight narrowing of the eyes. Eli was amazed at how well she could read his slight, near invisible expressions, like he was shouting out how he felt but no one else could hear.

He asked if Dean had located – killed – the witch. This took an inordinately long time, Castiel's precise questions punctuated by Dean's belligerent answers. Eli bit the tip of her thumb worriedly as she watched the two bicker.

She snapped to attention as Castiel moved to the bed and picked up a hex bag.

"Apparently the witch knows who you are too. This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn't found it, surely one or," his eyes flashed to Eli for a fraction of a second, "all of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?"

Dean and Sam shared a glance.

"We're working on it," Dean replied.

Castiel's voice was carefully flat and low. "That's unfortunate."

"What do you care?" Dean asked suspiciously. Castiel shot him a piercing look.

"The raising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals."

Eli bit her thumbnail again, worrying at the ragged edge with her teeth, her mind working fast. The 66 seals. Everything in her screamed that they must not be broken; even her very blood hummed with the knowledge. It was a physical push, this desire to stop the seals from breaking. It was part of her job, of course, to help the brothers stop the rising of Lucifer and the apocalypse, but it was more than that. It was deeper. Her thoughts flashed back to that night six years ago, the night that Bobby Singer saved her. She thought of the demon, and the pain, and the light, and the words, and she shuddered.

"…need to leave this town immediately." Castiel's voice reached her as if she was underwater, and Eli jerked to attention again.

"Why?" Dean asked, truly confused, and Eli's mouth twisted as she stared at Uriel, who broke his expressionless mask for just a moment to smirk at her.

Castiel's voice held none of the glee she saw in Uriel's face. "Because we're about to destroy it."

Eli could see something crack in Dean, another hairline fissure across his already damaged mental state. He went toe-to-toe with the angel, shouting, and every time that Castiel responded with his implacable logic it merely seemed to set him off more. He was acting reckless, like he _wanted_ to be smited, to provoke some kind of real response from the stoic angels. He wanted anger, the blood and violence of real human emotion, not the centered, superior calm of heaven.

It was foolish, Eli thought, curling one hand around the other pressing them into her chest as if to still the frantic beating of her heart, to anthropomorphize them simply because they looked human. She meant this for herself as much as for Dean. Six years of training, and she still wanted him to be something that he was not.

"Lucifer cannot rise." Castiel's voice had suddenly become slower, clearer, the voice of someone trying to teach advanced Latin to a three-year-old. "He does and hell rises with him. Is that something that you're willing to risk?"

Eli had had enough.

"Now wait a goddamn minute," she snapped, stepping forward, and both of the angels flinched at the blasphemy. "There are over 600 seals. Only 66 need to be broken."

"So?" Uriel growled, looking at her like he smelled something rotten.

"So I call bullshit on this whole 'we must smite the town' thing. If this seal doesn't break Lilith will just break another to make up for it."

Uriel didn't move, but he somehow seemed closer, the almost electrical energy around him heating the air and making the hair on Eli's arms rise like she had just stuck her finger in a socket. "Don't speak of things you know nothing about, Abomination."

"Uriel," Castiel reprimanded.

"Again with the name calling." Eli smiled, but there was no mirth in it. "Took a long time, though. I think you're showing restraint in your old age."

"So you're saying that we shouldn't care?" Castiel asked quietly, diverting her attention from the dark angel currently smoldering with rage. Eli immediately changed her tone into something gentler.

"No , I'm not saying that. Of course I'm not saying that. I'm saying that we should try to stop this, but we shouldn't smite the entire fucking town on the gamble that A: We _might_ fail and that B: Stopping this one seal would drastically alter Lilith's plan. She's got 600 seals to choose from, Castiel. You think she's going to care that she lost one?"

Sam stepped forward. "We can stop it," he pleaded, looking back and forth between the two angels. "We'll stop this witch before she summons anyone. Your seal won't be broken and no one has to die."

Uriel literally growled. "We're wasting time with these mud monkeys and that _thing_." He looked like he wanted to spit at Eli. Castiel sighed, turning back the trio.

"I'm sorry, but we have our orders." He looked at Eli as he said it, and she turned her face away.

"No, you can't do this," Sam sputtered frantically. "You're angels, I mean aren't you supposed to - You're supposed to show mercy." He was nearly pleading. Eli's heart went out to him, his young face that had seen too much, all arms and legs like a colt yet to grow into its body, his voice cracking with disbelief and heartbreak.

"Says who?" Uriel said, the smugness returning to his voice.

"Oh shut it, you unbelievable douche," Eli snapped at him without thinking.

"Watch your tongue when you speak to me, Abomination," he warned. "Or even _his_ will won't protect you."

"We have no choice," Castiel said to Sam and Dean, ignoring Eli and Uriel as if he had seen all of this before.

"Of course you have a choice, I mean, come on!" Dean threw up his hands. "You've never questioned a crap order, huh? What are you, just a couple of hammers?"

Tempers flared again, until Castiel finally snapped, with something approaching human emotion: "Tell me something Dean, when your father gave you an order, didn't you obey?"

There was a pause in which everyone stared first at the angel, then at Dean. Eli shook her head sadly. "Low blow, Castiel," she murmured, and when his eyes met hers they were a little pained.

Dean sank into himself for one brief moment, but then shook it off with a visible twitch of the shoulders, squared his shoulders and spoke. "Well, sorry boys, looks like the plans have changed."

"You think you can stop us?" The dark planes of Uriel's face were crinkled with disgust, his mouth twisted somewhere between a frown and a sneer, as if he was torn between the ridiculousness of the attempt and outrage that anyone would try such a thing.

Dean took a deep breath, walked over, and stood nose to nose with the angel, the edges of his beat-up leather jacket brushing the lapels of Uriel's immaculate suit.

"No," he started, his voice low and determined, every inch the hero. "But if you're gonna smite this whole town, then you're gonna have to smite us with it, because we are not leaving. See, you went to the trouble of busting me out of hell, and sticking a freaking bodyguard on my ass, I figure I'm worth something to the man upstairs. So you wanna waste me, go ahead, see how he digs that."

The look on Uriel's face changed to pure fury, his voice a crackling snarl. "I will drag you out of here myself."

Dean had the audacity to smirk. "Yeah, but you'll have to kill me, then we're back to the same problem. I mean, come on, you're gonna wipe out a whole town for one little witch. Sounds to me like you're compensating for something."

Eli let out a snort. She liked this hunter, she really did. She could see what Bobby saw in him: Arrogance, yes, but threaded subtly with iron determination and a completely selfless heart.

Dean stepped back and turned to Castiel. "We can do this," he promised earnestly. "We will find that witch and we will stop the summoning."

"Castiel!" Uriel exclaimed, moving as if to grip Dean and pull him out of there by sheer force. "I will not let these peop- "

"Enough!" Castiel held up his hand and stopped Uriel in his tracks, and something akin to pride warmed Eli's insides as she stared at the blue-eyed angel. He gave Dean a hard, appraising look. "I suggest you move quickly."

Eli let out a low sigh of relief; they had been given a reprieve. "Come on," she muttered, shooting one last glance at Castiel. His eyes met hers for a moment, and he nodded.

When they were gone Uriel let out a groan of frustration. "That bitch doesn't deserve the chance we are giving her. She should be praising our names, not acting like some foulmouthed c- -"

"It is a good thing, then," Castiel rasped, standing very still and tilting his head like a bird, his hands slipping easily into the pockets of his trench coat, "that it is not up to you."

The two angels stared at each other for one tense second, until Uriel jerked his head to the side and vanished. Castiel lingered just long enough to hear Dean's outraged shout of "Astronaut!" before he too disappeared and the room stood empty.

* * *

Eli stood outside of the Impala, squinting into the wind. Sam and Dean sat inside of the car, clearly having some kind of serious talk. Eli had a pretty good idea of what it was about, but she opted to stay outside for a moment. She was embroiled in her own crisis of faith; she didn't need to get involved in Sam's, too.

Finally the door swung open and a cranky Dean stepped out. "You done 'taking some air?'" he asked.

"You guys done having a brotherly existential crisis?" she shot back.

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, I don't think this one will be over for a long time. Get in, we have a lead. And don't think we won't be grilling your ass about what just happened up there."

Eli slid into the back passenger seat. "I already told you I'm working with angels," she said, slamming the door. "Why should you be surprised that I know a couple?"

The black car pulled smoothly away from the curb. "Oh, besides the boiling animosity in the room and the fact that you called Shaft a douche?" Dean asked snarkily as he swung the wheel and eased onto the road.

"Or how about the fact that he called you 'Abomination' and 'Thing,'" Sam commented, twisting in his seat to stare at Eli, who had busied herself with removing her braids and deftly untangling the knots in her hair. "Eli, what aren't you telling us?"

"Oh, a lot of things, probably," she said with fake lightheartedness. She kept her eyes down, and her answers blithe; it wasn't the time yet to tell them anything. It wasn't safe, for them or for her.

Underneath it all, what she really wanted was to be normal with them, for just a little while. A weird pain-in-the-ass hunter with angelic connections, nothing more. It felt good, to hold her secrets to her chest and smile at the world like they weren't there. It felt good, and it wouldn't last.

"The thing I really want to know is: Why are you working for them if you hate them and they clearly hate you?" Dean asked.

"I told you: Business arrangement. They can give me something I want."

"Which is?" Sam stared at her, curiosity and worry wrinkling his brow.

"None of your beeswax, boys," she said, glancing out the window. Her eyes widened. She stopped fiddling with her hair, ran her fingers through her messy waves and crammed the black hat back over her head. "And actually, I think this is my stop. Let me out here."

They were in front of a children's park.

"What?" Dean asked, pulling his eyes away from the road to stare at her in disbelief.

"Dean, stop the car," she ordered.

He complied, slamming on the brakes in the middle of the road. Eli hopped out of the back and knocked on the passenger side window. Sam rolled it down.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell us what this is all about?" Sam asked, and she just grinned.

"You boys go do your investigation. Give me a call if you find anything out. See you soon."

Then she pulled the jacket tighter around herself and hurried across the road. Dean watched her retreating back with narrowed eyes.

"One of these days, we're gonna make her talk," he muttered. "That girl has some serious 'splainin' to do." He put the car in gear and pulled away.

Eli walked up to the figure lurking under an old maple tree. "Twice in one day," she said once she was in earshot. "I didn't think I would see you again until after the battle was over."

"Hello, Elijah," he said, and while he wasn't exactly smiling, his brow was a little less furrowed than normal.

"Hey, Cas. Where's your friend?"

"Not here," he said shortly, giving her a sidelong look.

A chill wind blew by, rustling the orange and red leaves on the ground. The sky was a placid, late-fall blue that let the light fall unfiltered. It streamed through the leaves of the old tree, dappling Castiel's dark hair with gold, like a halo. She took her time studying him: how his nose was long and straight, framed by beautiful cheekbones and those wide set, twilight-blue eyes. Her gaze drifted to his mouth and its full lips, slightly chapped, and then to the hollow of his neck, just visible under his slightly rumpled suit.

"Why are you staring at me?" he asked, squinting at her face. "I was under the impression that intense scrutiny is culturally unacceptable."

Eli flushed and dipped her head down. "I rarely have the chance to see you up close. You look good."

"What you're seeing is my vessel, not me," he reminded her gently, shifting on his feet. She sighed, puffing air out of her cheeks.

"Right, of course. Why are you here, Cas?"

There was a pause. Then, in a quieter voice, he said, "I want to apologize for Uriel. He had no right to call you that. You are working with us now. You deserve to be treated with respect."

Eli raised her eyebrows. "Thank you," she said. "That's … nice of you to say."

"It's the truth," he said, looking at her. The wind rose, making his tan trench coat ripple. "Uriel is a fundamentalist. Dangerously so. I say this for your own good."

Eli studied the fallen leaves that lay thickly under her scuffed boots, muddying the bottom of her cargo pants. She noticed that his shoes were pristine and polished, not a hint of dirt on them. "What do you mean?"

"It is best to not… push him. He can lay no finger on Dean Winchester. The rules are more… flexible when they come to you." Eli looked up at him in surprise; he was so close to her now, close enough that if she wanted to she could reach out and touch the prominent line between his eyebrows. "I worry for you," he said, his voice losing some of its usual harsh tone.

"Oh." Eli glanced away, gnawing at her lower lip. He had never said anything like that before. She was at a loss for words. "Uh, okay, then."

Castiel looked at her. Her eyes were green green, like summer trees, her hair under the ugly hat knotted around her face and almost translucent in the late afternoon air. Her freckles were iridescent in the sunlight, pinpricks of orange stars scattered at random across her nose and cheekbones. They were like a maze; he found, for an irrational moment, that he wanted to connect them, to see if they formed some pattern or were really all just chaos.

He was startled by the trend of his thoughts lately, how his mind seemed to drift to inconsequential things. Even his worry was new. Maybe it was this human body that was affecting him. Maybe it was Dean Winchester. Or maybe it was…

"Would you really have smited the town?" she asked. Across the park was a playground, children shrieking and kicking up leaves, hanging upside down off of the jungle gym, kicking skinny legs on swings.

Castiel tore his gaze from her to watch them too. "If it had come to that, I would have followed orders," he said, his voice once again all stone and gravel. "But it would not have pleased me."

"I think it would have pleased them even less," she said, in a whisper that barely drifted past her own ears. He heard it anyway.

"I must go," he said. "Uriel is near. It would be… safest if you left now."

"Right." She stepped back from him, crunching on dry leaves. "I should go to the high school and meet up with Sam and Dean anyway."

Castiel frowned, as if deep in thought. "They are no longer at the school. They are headed to a house. Perhaps it is the house of the witch." He placed two fingers on her forehead, just the lightest of cool touches, and for an instant she saw an old house swimming in front of her, and knew its location.

"Go now, Eli," he said, turning from her with inhuman grace and starting to walk. "Go save the world."

"Thanks, Cas," she said softly. "I'll see you soon."

She spun around and rushed away.

Castiel turned once to watch her go, his gaze inscrutable. Then he walked across the park, for once taking his time. This human body fit well, like a glove; the very act of walking was a visceral experience, how each muscle shifted, connected, tensed and released, how the heart pumped and sent its blood thrumming so very close to the surface. He found that he rather enjoyed the feel of the sun against this fragile human skin and the chill wind that raised leaves and the fine hairs along his face. The laughter of children was pleasant, soothing almost. Warm. Like heaven.

He approached Uriel from behind, stopping just next to the bench where the darker angel was brooding. Unlike Castiel, Uriel seemed ill-fit for his human skin, like it was a rubber suit, thick-fingered and hard to maneuver, as chafing and confining as shackles. Castiel could sense the bitterness, the antagonism rising off of his brother in waves.

"The decision's been made," Castiel said. Uriel let out a choppy, humorless laugh.

"By a mud monkey," he snarled.

"You shouldn't call them that."

"It's what they are," he said derisively. "Savages, just plumbing on two legs."

"You're close to blasphemy." There was a cold edge to Castiel's voice.

"And where were you just now?" Uriel asked silkily. Castiel sat next to him, ignoring the question.

"There's a reason we were sent to save him. He has potential, he may succeed here." Castiel sighed. "And any rate, it's out of our hands."

Uriel noted Castiel's evasiveness but said nothing about it. "It doesn't have to be. "

"And what would you suggest?" Castiel asked warily.

"That we drag Dean Winchester out of here and then we blow this insignificant pinprick off the map. As a bonus, we can even leave that Abomination here and be rid of her once and for all."

"She is important," Castiel said with an edge to his voice.

"She is a monstrosity that never should have been allowed to survive past infancy."

"She cannot help the circumstances of her birth."

Uriel snorted. "She's just a dog without a collar."

Something about the phrase rang in Castiel's consciousness. "What did you say?" he asked, turning to look at his brother.

Uriel ignored him. "So what are we going to do about this…situation?" he asked gruffly.

"You know our true orders. Are you prepared to disobey?"

Uriel just looked at him for a long moment, and then Castiel was alone on the bench. He sighed, and very carefully, as he had never done this before, he pulled his fingers through his hair and let his head hang in his hands in utter frustration.

* * *

"Come on, pick up, pick up," Eli muttered into her phone as she ran, ducking under laundry lines and vaulting over bushes.

Finally there was a click and an irritated voice crackled: "Yeah?"

"What the fuck, Dean, I've been calling you for the past half an hour," Eli gasped, trying to talk and breathe deeply at the same time.

"We've been trying to call you, the message kept saying out of service," Dean snapped. "Where are you?"

"Running through people's backyards," she answered shortly, leaping over a bench, the phone jiggling awkwardly in her hands. "I must have just missed you. I went to the house but all I found was a dead body and lots of blood. What happened?"

"Samhain," Dean answered grimly. "This dude is risen and it's not exactly rainbows and puppies. We're going to the cemetery."

"Me too. Must be nice to have a car." She spat out a leaf as she wormed her way through a tall bush. "I'll be there in five. Don't do anything without me."

"Fine," he said, and hung up. Eli kept running, cutting through suburbia on the quickest route to the cemetery.

She found Dean already in the crypt, about to shoot down a gate. Behind it were terrified costumed teenagers huddled together like sheep as the reanimated bodies rattled in their cement cages. Dean saw her and pointed down the hall.

"Go help Sam!" he yelled. "I got this!"

Eli barreled through without slowing down, easily passing Sam in the hallway as he slowly and stealthily approached Samhain.

"Eli, wait!" he gasped before he could stop himself, jogging after her.

Samhain turned, but before he could use his powers Eli was on him. She tackled him to the floor like a football player and slammed the palm of her hand directly on his forehead.

Nothing happened. Samhain grinned eerily at her.

"I know what you are," he hissed. "And your little parlor tricks won't work on me."

With a wave of his hand he sent Eli slamming into the wall. He was on her in a minute, hand around her throat. "Just a dog without a collar," he wheezed, choking her.

"Hey dickhead," Sam yelled, and Samhain jerked his head up. Sam lifted his hand, sending the demon flying across the room. Eli slid down the wall, gasping for air.

Before her she could see Sam slowly exorcising Samhain, his hand pressed to his own forehead as he focused his energy on the demon. Sam's skin was bloodless, his eyes too-bright, like a sick man, a thread of red winding down from his nose like wet paint. She spat out blood, trying to call out, but her windpipe felt like it had been crushed. "No," she whispered hoarsely. The angels had been very specific in their orders: under no circumstances was Sam to use his powers. That was half of the reason she was even there.

She realized, as she watched the empty body drop like a puppet to the floor, that on her first big task she had failed.

A second later she felt Dean kneel by her and brush the hair from her eyes. "Hey, Eli. You okay?"

She nodded, then coughed out a bit more blood and brought her hand to her mouth, feeling a gash in her lip. Her head felt like she had been hit by a train and finger-shaped bruised were flowering over her neck, but she wasn't badly hurt. "Yeah, fine," she croaked. "Just help me up."

He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. "Steady now," he said as she wobbled a bit.

They started to walk out the door.

"Dean," Sam said pleadingly, and Dean shot him a look.

"Just…don't talk, okay?" he said harshly, and Sam obeyed. They walked out of the crypt in silence.

* * *

"You failed," a voice boomed from behind Eli when she was alone in the motel room the next day. She shrieked and whirled around, her hand clutching her chest, and saw who it was. In an instant her visible fear was gone, slicked over by a coat of bravado and false swagger.

"Oh, Uriel, it's just you," she said lightly. "I thought it might be something scary."

"Your insubordination will not be tolerated for much longer," he said, swiftly grabbing her arm and forcing her to look at him. "Especially if you keep failing. Sam Winchester is not to use his powers. Do you understand?"

"Let go of my arm," she growled. He frowned, tightening his grip.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, fine, now let go of my arm!"

He dropped it like he had been touching something disgusting. "Good. I think you forget, Abomination, that we are giving you a chance here. That your success is not guaranteed. So from now on, maybe you should show your superiors a little respect, or you might never get what you want."

Eli glared at him but bit her tongue. "Yes, sir."

"I'll be watching," he said, his voice ominous. "And remember, if you fail, and you _will_ fail, I will take very great pleasure in killing you myself. And it will not be quick, nor will it be merciful. So think about that the next time you choose to insult me."

With a sound like a flurry of wings, he was gone.

Eli sagged against the bed, her legs shaking. "I should never have taken this job," she whispered. She blinked hard, taking a big steadying breath to keep tears at bay. The whole situation felt wrong: her being there, the angels, the seals, all of it. It felt fake.

Eli hated to admit it to herself, but she wanted to see him, if only because he was the only thing in her whole mess of a life that felt real. Stupid, really: he was decidedly not real, wearing someone else's skin like a suit, looking through eyes that weren't his. But she did it anyway, concentrating and letting a flicker of something warm touch the edge of her consciousness. A location.

"The park," she whispered, grabbing her jacket and nearly running out the door.

She found them together, sitting on a park bench, talking in low voices. She jogged up behind them, out of breath.

"Cas!" she exclaimed, and both men turned to look at her. "Hey, sorry to interrupt, can I speak with you for just a moment?"

Castiel nodded solemnly. "I was done here anyway," he said, standing and walking away from Dean without another word. Eli shrugged apologetically and hurried to catch up with the angel.

"You located me," Castiel said when she was next to him. "I felt it."

"I figured you would be around," she said, stuffing her hands into her pockets and staring at the ground as they walked.

He tilted his head and looked at her patiently.

"I, ah…" she rubbed the back of her neck, already regretting having to bring up her recent failure. Castiel sensed her discomfort.

"It was not your fault," he said gently. "Samhain was too powerful for you. It was foolish to send you in at all. He would have been difficult for even an angel to kill."

"Right, but that's actually not what I came to talk to you about. I have a question for you." She stopped walking and turned to him, looking up at his face with the realization that, as usual, he was standing too close for comfort. She took a step back.

"Last night, in the crypt, Samhain, he… he said something to me." She wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep, unsteady breath.

"What did he say?" Castiel asked, his rough voice soothing, like a cat's tongue.

"You're just a … a dog without a collar," she quoted. "It made me think of that night, when Azazel…when he tried to…" She trailed off, her hand rising protectively to her throat. "Do you think that there's a connection?"

Castiel stared at her for a long moment, then dropped his gaze. "No," he said finally. "I think that they are just the words of a demon. You should not let them bother you."

"Oh," she said softly. "Okay, then."

"I really must go," he said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. "Take care of yourself, Eli."

Eli looked up, but he was gone. She sighed and lifted her head to the afternoon sky. "You too, Cas."


	4. Let Me Just Hop in My Delorean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __  
>  **Six years ago…**   
> 

It was the end of Eli's sophomore year of undergrad, and life, as it had always been, was normal.

"Mom! Dad! Guess who's come to visit!"

She burst through the screen door and dropped her car keys on the countertop. Outside, the trees were richly green and the air smelled of grass clippings and the sweetness of late-spring flowers. The inside of the house was cool, old stone and brick and hardwood floors, the windows thrown open to let the afternoon light shine illuminate the dust motes in the kitchen. Eli kicked off her tennis shoes, stretching leisurely and combing her fingers through her close-cropped blonde hair. "Anyone home?"

"There's my girl," said a deep voice, and she turned to see her father coming down the stairs, a book dangling from his fingertips. "How were finals?"

"Ridiculous," she said, giving him a hug. He was tall: her head only reached his chest, and when he kissed the top of her head she felt the brush of his lumberjack beard. He wore suspenders, as always, and old hiking boots under cheap blue jeans, and smelled like laundry detergent and the faint tint of oil and cars. Eli pulled away from him, beaming. "I'm just glad they're over. Two years down, two years to go."

"Eli? I thought I heard your voice." Her mother emerged from the basement, a bandanna holding her auburn hair back and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. On her hands were the yellow rubber gloves she wore whenever she cleaned, the ones that perpetually stank of bleach. "Are finals over already?"

"Yep. Time for celebration pie." Eli kissed her mom on the cheek. "You know that's the only reason I come home anyway," she joked.

Her mom rolled her eyes, tugging off her gloves and rubbing the dirt from her cheek. "Uh huh. Why don't you go unpack and then help your father make dinner?"

"Sounds good!" she said, grabbing her tattered military bag from the foot of the stairs and swinging it over her shoulders.

"That's a pretty small bag," her father commented, tilting his head and staring at it. His face was blank, but his words were very precise. "How long are you planning on staying with us, sweetie?"

"Just a few days, until my summer internship starts." Eli frowned, pausing halfway up the stairs to look at him. "I thought I already told you that."

He grinned sheepishly. "Must have forgotten."

"Keep forgetting things and soon you'll be on meds," she sing-songed as she continued up the stairs. He laughed.

* * *

It was past midnight when Eli's dad shook her out of a deep sleep. "Honey, wake up," he whispered.

"Dad?" She pushed her short hair out of her face, sitting halfway up, her voice thick with sleep. "What time is it? Is everything okay?"

"Get up," he said tersely. In the dark she could see only the dim outline of his face, but it looked strange, like a mask. "And get dressed. Quickly."

"Dad…"

"I'll explain on the way," he snapped. "Now get dressed."

He left the room in a hurry. Eli scrambled out of bed, her heart pumping in her throat. She flicked on the light and shimmied into a pair of old jeans at the side of the bed, stuck her bare feet into sneakers, and pulled on a light windbreaker.

"You ready?" Her dad was standing in the doorway, his stance tense, in work boots and an old checkered shirt. Behind him stood her mom, her face puckered with worry. For a moment there seemed to be something strange about them, just a flicker of the eyes, but then it was gone and Eli dismissed it as a trick of the light.

"Yeah, but Dad…"

"Get in the car," he said, and turned, starting to walk down the stairs. She jogged after him, grabbing at her mom's arm, still in her old bathrobe.

"Mom? What's going on? Where are we going?"

Her mom turned to look at her reassuringly. "Somewhere safe," she promised. "It'll be okay."

Then she kissed Eli's forehead, and Eli shivered.

They drove in silence, Eli huddled in the back seat. Outside the familiar hills rolled by, shadowed and foreboding in the dark. She stared out the window, a knot of fear worming its way through her chest and stomach. Her parents were acting so strange. No one would tell her where they were going. No one would tell her what the problem was, what was happening. She squeezed her eyes shut and sent up a quick, frantic prayer, something she hadn't done in years. _Please, God. I don't know what else to say, just… please. Please._

They pulled up in front of an old abandoned factory at the edge of town. "Why are we stopping?" Eli asked, peering through the glass at the moonless night.

Her mom turned to her and smiled gently. "This is where we're hiding," she said, her voice a little too calm, almost stilted. "Get out of the car."

"Hiding? From who? Why won't anyone tell me what is going on?" Eli's voice was frantic, rising in tone. She wanted to stay in the backseat, curled into a ball on the familiar leather cushions until morning came and the sun blossomed over the sky.

"Please, honey, just trust us. We'll explain everything once we're inside, but now we have to move fast. They're coming."

"Who?" Eli begged, but opened the car door anyway. The night was cool and smelled like early summer, the wind ruffling the sparse grass that grew from cracks in the pavement. The hulking building in front of them looked like it was about to fall apart, the kind of place where ghosts of old factory workers roamed the empty hallways.

Her mother took her hand and led her into the darkness.

They entered through a small door onto what appeared to be a loading dock. On a brighter night perhaps the moon would have sent streamers of light spooling through the large windows that lined the top of the walls, but tonight it was just dark, a slick inky black that made it impossible to see. The steady plunk of dripping water could be heard from somewhere close by, and Eli's feet squelched in puddles left over from rain seeping through holes in the roof. Her father clicked something and a bare bulb dangling from the high ceiling flared weakly to life, bathing the grimy interior in weak, sputtering light.

"Daddy," Eli whispered like a little girl. She hugged her windbreaker tighter to herself. "Why are we here? Are… are we safe?"

"No," her father said, and his voice was different somehow, smoother and oiler, the edges dancing with something malicious. "At least, you're not."

Then he turned and slammed her into the wall with inhuman strength, one hand around her neck, the other at her chest, holding her against the ancient surface.

"Da…" she whimpered, choking, unable to breathe. The stink of something like rotten eggs assailed her senses; the hand at her chest was heavy, almost rib-cracking, digging her back into the filthy wall. She looked at him, scrabbling at his wrists with her hands, trying to break his grip.

"Hello, Elijah," he said. "I've been waiting a very long time to speak with you."

Then he grinned, and his dark brown eyes turned a sickly yellow.

Eli tried to scream. She flailed her arms out, trying to push him away. Spots were dancing in her vision. She looked over at her mother, standing a few feet behind this thing that was most definitely not her father, but her mom just stood there, smiling wickedly. Her eyes had gone completely black.

"Oh don't worry, no one is coming for you," the yellow-eyed thing breathed. "I've made sure of that. Enochian spell work on all the walls. I bet they don't even know that you are gone. It's not like they watch over you all the time…oh no, the opposite really. They're trying to forget you even exist, that if they lock you up tight no one will ever find you. It took a long time, I must admit. Nineteen years. But I did it, and here you are."

Eli had no idea what he was talking about. She was starting to lose consciousness. He loosened his grip on her neck slightly, and she sucked in a deep breath.

"Who are you and…where is my father," she croaked when she could speak. He looked at her, amused.

"He's fine. Just sleeping now. It's not the first time something's invaded his body. When we're all done here, maybe I'll even let him go."

"What do you want with me?" she whispered. He studied her, tipping his head to the side in a very inhuman way.

"You really have no idea what's going on, do you?" he asked. "No idea of who you really are." Suddenly he lifted his hand from her neck and laid it on her forehead. He closed his yellow eyes. "Layers and layers of binding magic, whew. Hardcore stuff. Lucky for you, I'm just the thing to break it. Well, some of it. We'll have to wait until The Big Boss gets here to finish the job."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asked. She was shaking, her heart pumping blood and adrenaline at an impossible rate, every nerve in her body on edge. Tears flooded her eyes. She wanted to vomit in fear. "Whatever you think I am, you've got it wrong. I'm nothing, okay? Nobody. Just let my parents go, please. I'll do whatever you want, just please let them go."

"Oh, Elijah, Elijah, Elijah. You will do whatever we want." He pressed down harder on her forehead. "But I don't think," he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut with concentration, "that you'll have much choice in the matter."

He paused, then grinned. "Ah," he murmured. "There it is. Now hold still. This might hurt just a bit."

He twisted his palm against her skin, and Eli screamed.

It was like there was a splinter buried deep within her brain, and he was reaching inside and pulling at it, ripping and shredding the delicate tissue. The pain was immense and sharp, almost unbearable; her eyes rolled to the back of her head as the splinter inched out, so slowly it was like torture. Dimly she heard herself screaming, pleading, begging him to stop, but it was like it was someone else's voice going hoarse and stretched; all she could concentrate on was the red-hot pain.

She could feel it slide roughly to the surface, through her frontal lobe, tearing, tearing, tearing, and then delicately pierce her skin. She began to seize, blood running down her nose and out of her eyes, the sound rising from her throat that of a hysterical, dying animal.

Then it was out, and everything exploded.

White-hot light flooded her vision, making her skin feel like it was being burned off. She could feel every single atom in every single cell within her body, and all of them were writhing in agony. Whispers filled her mind, rising in pitch, frantically calling something she couldn't understand. It was unbearable anguish, ten times worse than the splinter pain, and she couldn't take it any longer.

It ended as quickly as it had begun.

"Well," came a familiar oily voice. "That was impressive."

The thing that was not her father removed his hands from where they had been shielding his eyes. Eli looked up, and immediately began to scream again. "Your face!" she howled, pushing herself feebly into the wall. "Oh my God, what the fuck is wrong with your face?"

Superimposed over her father's smirk was a writhing, ugly mass of twisted features and blackened, sagging sores. It grinned at her. "I guess it worked then. Now to finish the job."

"No!" she screamed as he lunged at her, but she was too weak to struggle. He grabbed her shoulder with one hand and with the other held something up: it was a slender circle of metal which he unhinged with a snap. Even in her fragile state she could sense the waves of power radiating off of it, like a high frequency song, calling to her.

"Time for your collar," he hissed, pushing it at her throat. With a power she didn't know she had she grabbed his wrist, struggling briefly.

"Stay… away… from …me," she gasped. He growled at her, pushing harder, and after a moment Eli smelled something burning. She flickered her gaze to where her hand was wrapped around his wrist, just inches away from her throat, and saw it.

Where her fingers touched his skin it was sizzling, filleting her father's flesh, sending up thin wisps of smoke. Still he pushed her, horrible face knotted in concentration.

And then a gun rang out, hitting the monster squarely in the side.

It didn't seem to hurt him, but it did distract him. He let out a snarl like a wild animal and turned his head to glare at the interlopers. Seizing her chance, Eli pushed at him, knocking the collar to the ground. She lunged forward and pressed both of her hands against his face.

The thing screamed in pain as his flesh started to crackle. He wrenched away and with a jerk of his head sent her flying into the opposite wall. Her back slammed against moldy concrete; she stuck there, like she was wrapped up in Velcro, several feet above the ground, an invisible hand around her throat.

Eli was just barely aware of a group of men rushing into the room, all with what looked like sawed-off shotguns. One of them began to chant loudly in Latin; the thing whirled around and sent him flying to the ground with just a wave of its hand, but another man picked up where the first had left off. Off to the side, the creature that was inside of her mother was rolling on the ground with one of the men, hissing into his face. Another man raised his gun, pointing it at her back.

"No!" Eli managed to scream hoarsely. "No, please! It's in my mom!"

The man with the gun hesitated, then grabbed the monster's hair and pulled it roughly off the other man, chanting in Latin. Eli could see the thing's real face, contorted in pain, shaking and trembling as the recital continued.

Finally it screamed, tilted back its head, and sent a stream of black smoke rushing from her mother's mouth. She collapsed in a pile, small and pathetic in her tattered bathrobe.

The men closed in around the first monster, chanting. It shook its head ruefully and looked Eli right in the eye.

"I'll be seeing you, kid," it said, then opened her father's mouth and emerged in a whirling tunnel of smoke.

The moment it was gone Eli slid down from the wall as if released from invisible chains. Her father was unconscious on the ground, bleeding from the shotgun wound in his side. His face was normal.

"Daddy," she whimpered, crawling across the floor to him, tears welling in her eyes. "Dad, Dad, oh my God."

One of the men crouched next to her. He reminded her of her dad, with his beard and gruff voice and worn work shirt. "Hey, hey now," he said soothingly. "I'm here to help you. It'll be okay, but we've got to get you out of here."

Eli shook her head fiercely. "I can't just leave my parents like this."

"My friends will stay behind and get them to a hospital," the man said with a flat Midwestern accent. He leaned over, gently lifting the torn flannel shirt that covered her father's wound. "He'll be fine; the bullet went clean through. It's you I'm worried about. I have to get you someplace safe."

"That thing," she gasped. "What was it?"

"A demon," the man said grimly. "Powerful one, too. Been on its tail for years."

"It… it tried to…" She gestured lamely at the circlet of metal still gleaming on the dirty floor. "It was going to put that around my neck. Why?"

"Don't know," he answered in a curt voice. "Just know you've gotta be kept safe. Especially tonight. Come on." He moved to pry her hands away from her father's shirt. "It'll be okay. Say, what's your name?"

"Elijah…Eli. Eli Grant," she whispered shakily.

"Well Eli, my name is Bobby, and I promise you that everything is going to be okay. I just need you to let go and come with me."

She stayed silent, just staring at the prone body in front of her.

"Please," he implored.

Finally bent her face down and kissed her unconscious father on his cheek. There were finger-shaped blisters on his skin from where she had laid her hands on the demon. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she whispered. "I'm so sorry." Then she let the soft material slide from her grasp and she stood. "Where are we going?"

"My house," Bobby answered shortly. "It's a bit of a drive, but it's the safest place I know. You okay to walk on your own?"

Eli stared at the two bodies on the ground, feeling the prickle of white light still dancing on her fingertips and the strange hum of voices in the back of her head. There was a steady warmth growing inside of her, like a door opening, and despite everything a little voice deep inside of her sighed and whispered, _Oh, finally._

"Eli?" Bobby prompted.

She looked at him and nodded slowly, her eyes blank and dazed. "Yeah. I'm fine." She hesitated, wrapping her arms around her body as if to ward off a chill. "How did you even find me?"

Bobby's shoulder's twitched, and when he spoke his voice was sharp, as if daring her to doubt him. "Would you believe me if I said a dream led me here?"

Eli couldn't speak; she just swallowed, hard, and nodded.

They walked out the door together into the night. Bobby paused only to pick up the circlet of metal off of the filthy ground and slip it into his pocket, where it lay heavy like a stone.


	5. It's a Ballroom Blitz!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Present day…** _

"Well that sucked," Dean said morosely. He downed a shot, slamming the tiny glass down on the table.

Eli downed her own, wincing as the hash liquid burned her throat. "Ugh, gross. I need a chaser."

Dean slid a pitcher of beer over to her and she groaned. "That's even more disgusting," she muttered, but slammed a second shot anyway, following it with the room-temperature beer.

"We pissed off angels," Sam muttered, sipping his drink. "Let a seal be broken, watched some teenagers die bloody, and are one step closer to the whole world going kaboom. What a day."

They sat in silence. The bar was nearly empty, only a few late-night patrons slouched over tables. Blues piped from the speakers. The whole establishment smelled of beer and unwashed dishes and the thick, sticky haze of cigarette smoke that draped over everything like a cloud. Dean downed another shot. Eli pushed her beer away, looking nauseated.

"I need a soda or something. I'm too depressed to drink."

"Oh come on," Dean said, pushing the beer back to her. "If you can't get smashed when you're depressed, when can you? Hell, after everything that just happened, I'd say we've earned ourselves a nice bender."

"Yeah, that's exactly why I can't drink." She slid the beer away from her again and slowly began to chew a french fry. "I fucked up. I should've been with you guys. If I had gone with you to the school, to the house, I would have been able to see…" She trailed off. "Never mind."

"You can't beat yourself up about it," Sam said. He rested his elbows on the table, the sleeves of his checkered shirt rolled up, and took a long drink of beer.

"Yeah, Sam and I fail all the time!" Dean clapped Sam's back hard, causing his brother to choke. She huffed at them grumpily, pushing her hair out her face.

"Yeah, but you're not tethered to asshole angels whose idea of fun is to threaten you with smiting."

"Um, hello?" Dean asked, pointing to himself. "You're not the only one with angelic issues. They broke me out of hell, and now they think they own me."

"Sometimes I think they would like nothing better than to see my head on a stick," Sam chimed in.

"So let's get drunk!" Dean finished, lifting his shot like a salute.

"I'm your _bodyguard_ ," she stressed. "You two get drunk. I can't have my judgment impaired." She eyed Dean critically. "Especially not with you around, grabby hands."

"I would never," Dean replied, affronted. He paused for a moment as if thinking something through. "Okay, so you're basically saying you can never have fun because of these 'bodyguard' duties."

"Basically," Eli said, taking the final bite of her chicken burger.

"So just don't be our bodyguard anymore," he said, shrugging. "Look, to be honest, we really don't need one, but I understand you're heavenly appointed and will be sticking around for a while. So just… stick around. If we need your help, we'll ask for it. Until then, I dunno… sit there and be cute."

"Nice one, Dean," Sam muttered.

"Well, after that lovely little display of misogynism, this cute girl is going to the bathroom," Eli said, standing and pushing up the sleeves of her jacket. "If the waitress comes by, order me a coke."

"Where is that waitress anyway?" Dean asked, craning his head around and surveying the smoky room. "I want me some pie." Eli caught Sam's eye, he smiled a little and shook his head, and she smiled back and rolled her eyes before walking away. It was tentative, the first tiny spark of an inside joke, but it made something swell pathetically in her chest, like the loser girl asked to sit at the popular table.

The bathroom was tiny and buzzing with flies, the handle on the door of the one stall broken, the floors slick with indefinable, reeking substances. She was washing her hands when it happened: the door opened and several people walked in. Eli didn't look up.

"Yo, guys, this is a one-staller only," she said, glancing into the grimy mirror. "So if you could wait your turOHFUCKINGSHIT!"

The men had the twisted, rotting faces of demons superimposed over their features. She spun around, reaching for her guns, but they were on her in a second, twisting her arm behind her back. She immediately stopped struggling, going limp as if unable to fight back. The demon grinned, pleased at having overpowered her so easily.

"Not a word," he breathed into her ear. The host was a burly man in his mid-30s with beer breath and yellowed teeth. She was marched out of the bathroom, the others following close behind them.

In the dining room, Sam and Dean were standing, knives at their throats, flanked by five demons. "Found the waitress!" Dean called to her in a too-chipper voice, the kind he used to disguise his fear.

She glanced around: the other patrons were slumped over their drinks, dead. The demons must have waited outside until the three hunters split up; that's probably where they snagged the waitress, who was currently glaring at Dean with black eyes. But why didn't they just possess the patrons in the first place?

_Because they know about me_ , Eli realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach. _They know I can see demons. But what else do they know?_

"Sam and Dean Winchester," the waitress drawled. "So nice of you to stop by."

"Bite me, bitch," snapped Dean. The demon holding him jerked his head back, digging the knife into the sensitive skin at his throat.

"Ooo, not a very smart thing to do, Dean," she said, smiling widely. In her hand was the Knife. She waved it in front of his face. "Especially now that we've got your little toy. So why don't you just stay quiet for a moment, like a good boy."

She turned and looked at Eli. "So the rumors are true. A heavenly bodyguard. One who can see demons for what they really are. Still." She eyed Eli, who was still barely struggling, up and down. "I'm not impressed."

"You can see demons?" Sam blurted out, unable to help himself. Eli glared at him.

"Well, this is an interesting development," the demon waitress said, looking back and forth between the three of them. "Having trust issues, are we?"

"Will you just shut up and do whatever it is you're going to do?" Dean hissed.

"Dean, don't antagonize the demon," Eli whispered fiercely.

"I think I'll do just that," the demon said. "You see, what with Dean here being pulled out of hell by angels and Sam being able to exorcize demons with his mind." She paused, sizing Sam up. "Don't even think about it, by the way," she said. "Or your big brother will have a knife in his throat before a single one of us gets pulled out. Some of us banded together to take you boys out before you do any serious damage. We are really sick of getting killed all the time."

"By…take us out, you mean what, exactly?" Dean asked. The demon behind him lifted his head back by his hair and cut his neck ever so slightly, so that a thin stream of blood ran down his skin. The demon-waitress smirked.

"What do you think, hotshot."

Dean moved his eyes over to Eli, who was still just standing there limply. "Uh, a little help here?"

"Oh now you want my help?" she asked, looking bored, but on the inside her body was humming, every nerve-ending flared to almost painful awareness. "I'm sorry, I thought I was just supposed to stand here and look cute."

"Now is not the time to be a bitch, Eli," Sam snapped. "Can you help us or not?"

The demon turned slowly to look at her, head tilted to the side. "What can you possibly do, little bodyguard?" she asked. "Demon-seeing powers are of no use to you now."

"Oh, you ugly bitch," she said, smiling hugely, feeling a familiar trembling spark run through her body, like the jolt of an electrical socket. It moved under the surface of her skin like snakes, like the buzz of adrenaline but sharper, sweeter. "I have been waiting so long for this. You have no idea."

Eli ground her heel into the demon's toes at the same time her elbow slammed into his solar plexus. He grunted, staggering back, but Eli was already on him, palm against his forehead. Something inside of her opened; she poured some of that clean electric energy into him, feeling it soak through his layers of grime and sickness. It felt _good._ He screamed horribly, a white light streaming from his eyes and mouth, and then he went limp.

While this was happening Sam and Dean wrenched out of the demons' grips. Dean dove for the Knife. He wrestled it away from the waitress but was hauled back a moment later by another demon.

"They just keep coming and coming," Sam gasped, standing back to back with Dean. There were now at least ten in the room. "Should I…?"

"No," Eli said decisively. She had to resist the urge to giggle; riding the high always did that to her, made the colors so sharp and bright, the air tingling, moving, like she could cut through it with a knife. The light under her skin grew, pressing at her pores, shaking and gleaming and just _begging_ to be let out. "Grab your holy water and do what you did back in the day. I got this."

"Eli, you can't bitch-slap every one of them," Sam countered. She smirked, pulling out the guns from under her jacket.

"Dude, I've been training under an angel for six years," she said, her lips bared over white teeth in an almost feral smile. "You think I didn't pick up a few tricks? Why do you think I'm your bodyguard?"

Suddenly, as if a tiny bomb had been set off, the guns flared with white fire in her hands.

"Because I can do this," she hissed, raising the guns.

When they fired the bullets were pure white, flashing through the dark bar like tiny stars, and when they pierced a demon's head a sickly glow sputtered inside of them for a moment before they collapsed on the ground. She fired off round after round, blazing white-hot bullets into shoulders, heads, chests.

After a second of stunned silence Dean and Sam joined the fray, Dean slashing with the Knife, Sam scalding demons with holy water and muttering exorcism spells under his breath. After a few moments the remaining demons gave up, simultaneously throwing their heads back and streaming from the throats of their hosts as thick black smoke.

The three hunters stood in the center of the room, panting. The light shining from Eli's guns went out.

"Okay," Dean gasped, holding the cut at his neck and staring at Eli. "You have _got_ to explain what the hell is going on here."

"Dean," she whispered, her back to them. He shook his head fiercely.

"Nuh uh, don't think you're gonna get out of this time, blondie. What the fuck did you just _do_?"

Slowly she turned to them. Blood was streaming from her nose. She stumbled.

"I went too far," she groaned, then fell to her knees and finally to the floor, her eyes rolling in the back of her head, completely unconscious.

* * *

"Shit, girl is heavier than she looks," Dean grunted as he laid her prone body on the motel bed. He gently tugged off her boots and jacket, covering her with a light blanket. "She looks like death warmed over."

"Here," Sam said, emerging from the bathroom clutching wet towels. He handed them to Dean. "For her face."

Dean sighed and began wiping the dried blood from under her nose. "What the hell is going on, Sam?" he asked quietly.

Sam sank down on the other bed and stared at Eli. Her skin was pale and washed out under the harsh light; she looked fragile, the tiny blue veins under her eyes startlingly visible. "I honestly have no idea," he said. "Maybe she lied. Maybe she is an angel."

"Runaway angel? Refused to play nice with the other angels?" Dean said, shrugging. "It would explain the white light."

"And the fact that the angels can't stand her," Sam agreed.

"She's not an angel," a gruff voice said, causing Sam and Dean to jump.

"Jesus _Christ_ , Castiel, don't _do_ that!" Dean exclaimed. Castiel frowned, walking over to the side of the bed.

"My apologies. How is she?"

"Comatose," Dean snapped. "So how about you lay your hands on her and fix her up?"

Castiel looked uncomfortable. "I'm not supposed to."

Dean stood and glared at Castiel, challenging him. "Look, Eli just took out a roomful of demons to protect us. You guys were the ones who sent her here in the first place. I don't care about your stupid orders, the least you can do is help her out."

Castiel stared down at the unconscious Eli for a long moment before sinking onto the bed. He brushed a lank strand of hair from her face, hesitated, then gently laid his long fingers against her forehead.

For a second nothing happened. Then Eli gasped and opened her eyes, staring blearily at the angel above her.

"Cas?" she whispered, her voice thick and groggy. He removed his hand from her forehead, trying to stem the deep wave of relief that washed over him at the sight of her green eyes and the gentle sound of his name coming from her mouth.

"Are you all right?" he asked her. She nodded, licking her chapped lips; Castiel averted his eyes.

"I think so."

"You pushed yourself too far," he reprimanded. She gave a dry, coughing laugh.

"What else was I supposed to do? Besides, it felt _good._ "

"Okay, now we're all conscious would someone like to explain to me what is going on here?" Dean burst out. "What was that back there?"

"Dean, I can't…" she said, struggling to sit up. Castiel placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I think it's time that you tell them, Elijah," he said seriously. "They have a right to know."

"Damn straight we do," Dean groused.

Eli hung her head. Castiel was unused to comforting people, but his hand was still on her bare shoulder, so he squeezed it a little, rubbing his thumb in small circles against the skin. It frightened him, how good it felt, this small touch, and after an awkward moment he pulled away, cradling the hand that touched her against his body as if it had been burnt.

"Fine," she finally said. "Fine. Seems kind of dumb to keep it a secret now." She stopped, her lips moving soundlessly, like she wanted to speak but couldn't. Her shaking hands gently throttled the blanket pooled at her waist. Dean fidgeted.

"Eli…" Sam started.

She held her hands up. "I'm okay. I got this." She took a deep breath. "So once upon I time, I went to college and had friends and lived a normal, boring life. Then a yellow-eyed demon possessed my father and he… _changed_ me…"


	6. So You Want To Be A Warrior For God

 

_**Six years ago…** _

 

 

"So what are you going to do now?"

Eli looked at Bobby from her spot on the couch. She had been staying at his house for three days, looking through his old books and listening to his hunter stories. She called the hospital every day: her parents were fine, albeit confused and disoriented. They didn't remember anything about what had happened to them.

"What do you think I should do?" she asked softly, looking down at her threadbare jeans. Then he said what she had been dreading most of all.

"I think it's probably safe for you to head on home. No more demon attacks, no more demon signs. Looks like this demon's moved on. I can show you how to protect your house…"

"No," Eli said, trying not to let her voice shake. "I'm not going back there."

Bobby sighed, his bearded face sympathetic. "Eli, I know it was scary, but…"

"It's not that," Eli said. She stood and starting to pace the room, her socked feet picking up dust from the carpet. "Look, Bobby, you're a hunter, you've been doing this for a long time, you can't understand, but… I'm not going back."

"Eli, what's done is done."

"You're willfully misunderstanding me," she said. She raised herself to her full height and turned to stare at him with a steely glint in her eyes. "I want to be a hunter, Bobby."

"What?" he asked, flabbergasted. "Why on God's green earth would you _want_ to be a hunter?"

Eli ran her hands through her short hair, causing it to stick up in frayed cowlicks. "Look, I don't know how to explain this to you in a way that won't sound completely crazy. I just…I was dying before, Bobby. That normal life? It was killing me. I've always felt like I had this hole inside of me, felt like…something was pushing me toward some unknown destiny. I _hated_ having a normal life. I felt like I couldn't breathe, like I was wasting away or…or…locked inside my own head so tightly that life was like looking through windows."

She took a shaking breath, her hands clenching and unclenching compulsively. She felt like she was really feeling, for the first time in her life, like emotion had become needle-sharp and explosive; it sparked, and burned into a rush that was the closest she had ever gotten to fitting in her own skin. "Once, when I was in high school, a man attacked me with a gun in a parking lot. He was trying to force me into a car. I was terrified. I managed to knock the gun out of his hand and get away, but not before a bullet grazed me." She pulled down the collar of her shirt to show a thin scar lining the top of her arm. "And that, Bobby, that was one of the greatest moments of my life. It was like I had never been alive before. Facing down that man and walking away from it was… pure adrenaline. I could have died that night, but God…" She stopped and took a deep breath. "Almost dying is the only time I ever feel alive. I need this. This is my destiny, I know it."

Bobby stared at her like she had grown a second head. "You're absolutely crazy, you know that? Hunters die every day. We fight because we must, because we're broken and we have nothing left inside us but to fight. We don't choose this life. If you have even the slightest possibility of being normal, you should take it. You should run as far away from here as you possibly can and never look back. You don't want this, Eli. No one wants this."

"I want it," she said, stepping forward. Her voice cracked. "Please."

"You'll die," he said, without the slightest trace of doubt in his voice. She met his eyes.

"I know."

"Damn it, girl," he growled. "What do I have to say to get through to you?"

"Train me," she challenged. "Take me on hunts. Let me see what it's like. I promise you, I can do this."

"No," he said quietly but firmly. "No, I won't lead an innocent girl to her death."

"I'm not so innocent anymore," Eli said, taking another step toward him. She held out her hands; in her mind she could still feel the burning pain, and underneath it that strange tingle under her nails, the light that streamed radiant from her pores. "Bobby, that demon, he… did something to me. Woke something up inside of my brain that I never even knew was sleeping. I can do things now. I can see when demons are possessing someone. I can burn them with a touch. And, come on Bobby, I already told you what my dad's like. I've been shooting since I could hold a gun. He gave me rifles for Christmas, he fucking showed me how to use a grenade! I…" She wracked her brain, trying to think of arguments. "I've taken martial arts for three years! All of this, it's…it's got to count for something, right?"

Bobby was silent.

"Bobby?"

"I think you should leave now," he said gruffly, turning his back on her and starting to walk to the kitchen. "Go back to your family. Go back to school."

"I won't," she said, her voice very calm. It was all she had thought about for the past three days; she had debated endlessly with herself, but even in her own head it rang false. She knew what she wanted to do the moment she walked out of the warehouse doors. "I've already decided. And if you won't help me, Bobby, if you won't train me, then I'm just going to have to train myself." He stopped in his tracks like she had frozen him with her words. "I'll chase down ghosts and demons and monsters and I _will_ get myself killed. I am deathly serious about that."

He turned to her, his face thunderous. "Are you threatening me?"

"Just telling you the truth," she said. "I'm sorry, Bobby, but if I die, it's on your head."

He glowered at her. "You're a right little bitch, you know that?"

"Just stubborn, that's all," she said in an even voice. "Will you at least think about it?"

He was silent for a long moment. Then he held up a finger. "One, you can tag along for just one hunt if you promise to stay out of the way and listen to my every order. This is only so you can see what we really deal with. That's it. Then you're home, and I wash my hands of you. Understand?"

She nodded, a smile threatening to break out over her face. "Thank you, Bobby."

"Bah," he said, resuming his walk to the kitchen for a beer. "Just get some sleep. I got just the right case to scare you straight: a werewolf in the next town over. We leave at nightfall."

* * *

Eli was standing in her parent's backyard in the springtime, the scent of apple blossoms washing over her. In the distance the sun was setting, spreading a syrupy golden glow over the landscape. From this angle she could see inside the house; her parents were cooking together in the kitchen, ingredients spread over the countertops, the family dog nipping at their heels. A feeling of utter peace and contentment spread over her whole body.

"You can have all of this again," a warm voice thrummed. It wasn't exactly a voice, more like words made out of light. She turned around, but could see no one.

"Hello?" she asked. "Who's there?"

A piece of the setting sun seemed to break away and hover in the sky, glinting like a star. "I am an angel of the Lord, Elijah. I have been watching over you."

"Didn't do a very good job of it then, did you?" she asked. The presence sighed.

"That was a mistake, and for it we apologize. But it is not a mistake you have to pay for with the rest of your life."

"What do you mean?" she asked, trying to look up at the light. It was too bright; she looked away, squinting.

"I can help you. I can wash away the memory of what happened that night, like I have done for your parents. I can close the doors in your mind that were opened. Never again will you have to fear. Never again will you be forced to see the faces of demons or feel their touch. You will be able to live out your life peacefully and happily, as it should have been."

"No!" Eli exclaimed loudly, the sound echoing over the empty yard. "No, I don't want that. Please, don't take away my memories."

There was the sound like the rustling of wings. "I can do nothing without your permission."

"Well you don't have my permission," she said, lifting her chin and crossing her arms like Bobby had already taught her. _'If you don't feel brave, fake it,'_ he had said her first day at his house. _'Only way to survive in this world is bullshit and a gun under your pillow.'_

"You should never have been awakened. It is wrong. It goes against the Lord's plan."

"Then screw the Lord's plan," she snapped. "I want this."

"You wish to spend your life in fear and danger? You wish to wake up every day knowing it may be your last?" The voice-that-was-not-a-voice sounded confused.

"I want to fight," she stressed. Around her, the world was still structured and calm, but now it felt fake, flat, the air a little hard to breathe. "For good. I can be an asset, you can use me."

The rustling sounded again, louder now. "And for what would we use you?"

"Teach me to use these powers," Eli said. "You will never have my permission to wipe my mind, so it looks like I'm sticking around, Lord's plan or no. So help me."

There was a pause. "There are so many things that you don't understand. You should trust in the Lord. Let me wipe the slate clean." The presence was coming closer to her.

"No," she said, backing away, nearly stumbling in the fragrant grass. The pressure had returned to her chest, the dull, fearful ache of living a life of monotony. "No."

"Elijah…"

"NO!"

Eli sat straight up in bed, her sweaty hair hanging around her face. Her heart was pumping so fast it felt like a tiny drum stretch tight. The room was dark, hazy and hot, and it took her a second to remember where she was.

"You all right?" came Bobby's voice. She looked at him, a shadow in the doorway, and nodded.

"Yeah, just a weird dream." She held her hand to her chest, trying to calm her shaking nerves. _If it was a dream_.

"Well, it's time to wake up anyway. Moon's full. We've got a werewolf to hunt."

* * *

The next time it happened, she knew it was a dream.

Eli was standing in her grandparents' house, the one that burned down ten years before. It smelled as she remembered it: of mothballs and rose perfume. Underneath her bare feet the carpet was green and squishy, like moss.

"Hello?" she called out. "Uh…angel?"

"Hello, Elijah," a familiar voice said. Eli turned, seeing one of the people she least expected to find in this bizarre dream world.

"Luke?" she asked, taking a step toward the man in the turtleneck and ripped jeans. "What are you doing here?"

He gazed gently at her. "I am not Luke. My name is Castiel." His voice was deeper than it should have been, almost grating.

"The angel from before?" she guessed, and he nodded. "Why do you suddenly look like my best friend?"

He tipped his head, brown eyes very still, almost dead. "We are inside of your mind. I thought it would be easier if we could speak face to face, so I looked into your memories and appropriated a figure that I thought you would find the most comforting."

"Well it's creepy," she snapped. "So next time, just… just pick somebody else, okay? Someone I don't know."

He blinked. "If you wish."

"Hopefully," said another voice, "there won't be a next time."

"Grandpa?" Eli asked with wonder as her dead grandfather shuffled into the room, his head bald and gleaming, dressed in his usual pristine button-down shirt and dark slacks. Then she realized what was going on and her face hardened. "Oh, not cool," she spat. "Who are you?"

"My name is Zachariah," the angel with her grandfather's face said.

"Why are you here?" Eli asked coldly. Zachariah looked at her with eerie kindness.

"We know that Robert Singer has been training you. We would like it to stop."

"Why?"

He ignored her, resting on his cane, his hands wrinkled and gnarled and so very, very familiar. "Our offer still stands. Have you reconsidered it?"

"No, I haven't," she said in a clear voice. Contrary to Bobby's hope, her first hunt and its accompanying near-death experience had only solidified her desire to become a hunter. She remembered the feel of the gun in her hand and the spray of werewolf blood with an almost visceral pleasure. "I want to hunt. I want to use this power I have."

"You don't know what you're saying," Zachariah said, shaking his head.

"Yes, I do," Eli stressed.

"No," Castiel said sharply, "you don't."

"You can't," Zachariah said with steel in his voice. "How can you? You don't even know what you are. If you continue to fight, you will be reviled in heaven. All denizens of the Lord will see you as nothing more than a stain to His name, an abomination. There will be no entrance for you into the afterlife."

Eli was stunned. She sank onto her grandmother's purple couch, feeling the familiar satin-softness under her fingertips. "What? Why?"

"Why do you think you have such powers?" Zachariah asked, sitting next to her. He even smelled like her grandfather, his cologne and shaving cream. "Why do you think you can see demons and burn them with your touch, something only angels can do?"

She stared at him blankly. He sighed, looking upward as if asking for divine help.

"Since you will not accept our generous offer, I suppose there is no choice but to let you know the truth." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "About thirty years ago, one of our angels came to this plane of existence. He took a human vessel, he completed his job, and took leave to wander the earth. He skipped from vessel to vessel for five years, examining the world and its people for the first time in many millenia." Zachariah stopped and looked her in the eye. "Your family has the proper bloodline to be an angelic vessel. More specifically, your father."

Eli's throat closed up; she put a shaking hand to her lips. "What are you saying?"

"A long time ago, angels walked with man. Some of them reproduced," Zachariah said, a faint note of derision in his voice. "This was an unholy union, a blemish on God's great plan, a stain on both races. The abominations were purged. Angels were forbidden from liaisons with humans; in fact, they were, to put it crudely… sterilized."

He looked at her kindly. "You were a horrible mistake, Elijah. You should never have been born."

Eli dropped her hand from her mouth. "Are you saying that my father is an angel?"

"Well, not the one you grew up with. He is just an empty vessel. But for a brief period of time the man you know as your father was occupied by a force of Heaven and that force succumbed to … what he believed to be harmless curiosity about the human condition."

"Did my mother know that it wasn't her husband?" she asked in a choked, shaky voice. Zachariah looked surprised at the question.

"No, of course not."

"So he raped her," Eli said flatly.

Zachariah gave her a patronizing stare. "Well, she wasn't exactly unwilling."

She was almost trembling with rage. "You…you… I can't believe you. Angels are supposed to be… beautiful. Merciful. Holy. They are not supposed to possess a man's body and then rape his wife!"

"To be fair, your father did give permission over the use of his body beforehand," Zachariah pointed out.

"That doesn't make it okay!" she yelled, her eyes welling up with tears. She blinked them back, swallowing hard. _'If you don't feel brave, fake it,'_ Bobby said in her head. _'Don't let them see you cry.'_

"I think you're missing the bigger picture here," Zachariah said, shifting on the couch and folding her grandfather's hands neatly together. "You are a Nephilim, the offspring of an angel and a human. The only one left in existence. We were able to block your powers, harness them so that they would never be released. You were supposed to live an ordinary, unknowing life. But Azazel heard rumors, and he found you, and was able to unlock those carefully constructed blockades."

"Azazel?" Eli asked wearily.

"The demon who attacked you," Castiel said, and her head jerked to the visage of her friend, standing still and shadowed in the corner. She had almost forgotten he was there.

"His attack released your… quasi-angelic powers," Zachariah continued in that gratingly calm voice. "But they are powers you were never meant to have, Elijah. The entirety of Heaven thinks you an awful mistake, a horrible freak. Nephilim are reviled. If you choose to continue this way of life, to not allow us to mercifully wipe your memories and reinstate the barrier Azazel broke, then you will have the wrath of Heaven itself upon your head. Do you really wish for that?"

Eli was silent for a long moment, staring at the moss green carpet under her toes. "No," she said softly.

"That's my girl," Zachariah said, smiling her grandfather's denture-white smile. "Now, if you'll just…"

"NO," she repeated, looking back up at him. "No, I won't let you bully me into this. This is my life, my destiny. And if I'm sitting here, right now, with you, that must mean that God needs me for something."

"And how did you come up with that conclusion?" Zachariah asked coldly.

"You said that heaven once purged all Nephilim," Eli said, tripping over the unfamiliar word. "But no one killed me. I was allowed to grow up. I also think that if my not awakening was so damn important, you would have had a stronger angel guard at my back to keep the nasty demon away. And in a world that I now realize is filled with angels and demons and all kinds of monsters, that seems to me to mean one thing."

"Which is?" Zachariah nearly spat.

"I'm being held in reserve," she said shrewdly. "A powerful ace in the hole. Maybe heaven hates me, but maybe I am meant to do this."

"And what exactly do you think you're going to do?" Zachariah had turned her grandfather's voice into something downright nasty.

"Fight," she said. "Use what I have. Be a hunter. Kill demons."

"Heaven will hate you for it," he warned.

"Yeah," she snapped. "You already said that."

"So you won't accept our offer?" Zachariah said with a strange, icy finality. She just stared at him, her eyes narrowed. He stared right back, unimpressed. "So be it."

Eli woke up screaming.

* * *

Life, to put it lightly, changed after that.

Everything that once defined Eli quickly fell away. After much persistence, Bobby agreed to continue to train her. She lived in his spare room. He taught her to fight, shoot, read Latin, identify any and all types of supernatural nasties. He taught her about salt and iron, hex bags, how to make a sawed-off shotgun, how to melt down her own silver rounds. They went on hunts together. She cooked dinner and tucked a blanket around him when he fell asleep on the couch.

Dealing with her parents was difficult, and unsafe, so she cut off contact with them. Eli traveled to visit them, once, about two months after the incident at the warehouse. She told them that she had relocated, that she had a new job, that she would call them when she got the chance. They didn't believe her, just cried at her thinner, harder frame and the fresh bruises not completely hidden by her long sleeves, convinced that she was doing drugs. She left them with kisses and clumsy placations, only to return that night to lay salt under the bricks that framed the doors and windows and place wards at the edges of the property.

Eli felt like she should feel worse about abandoning her family, and she did miss them in the dark quiet hours when she couldn't fall asleep and her muscles and bones ached from long sparring sessions and hunts, but she was just too busy, and too satisfied, to give them more than a passing thought.

For the first time in her life, Eli felt fulfilled, like she finally was where she was supposed to be. She wasn't always happy, and more often than not she was wounded, but she was a fighter, and damn proud of it. She gritted her teeth while Bobby popped in dislocated shoulders and sewed up cuts with string and whiskey. She learned to drink hard liquor and cheat at poker and work credit card scams and create her own fake licenses and FBI badges. She was free.

And then there was her other training.

It happened first about three months after her visit with Zachariah. Eli had been trying to summon the power that could burn a demon's skin, but without real demons to work on she was often just left with a headache and a nose bleed. The best she could do was make her hand glow faintly, and light up a bulb when she held it, but the warmth was nothing. "Like an easy-bake oven," Bobby once drawled. "Maybe you can bake little brownies with your magical angel powers."

That's when he started to come in her dreams.

When it first happened, Eli found herself standing on the sloping hill that overlooked her old university, the place she used to go on quiet summer days to write papers and read books and listen to scraggly young men play the guitar. The place was empty now, the world in perpetual twilight. She was barefoot, again, in her favorite ripped jeans and a soft-as-silk sweater, her short hair smooth and curling around her ears. She looked side to side, waiting for the appearance she knew would come.

"Hello, Elijah."

She spun around. Behind her stood a man. He looked about thirty years old, with a crop of dark hair and the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen. She edged closer to him, unsure.

"…Castiel?"

He nodded solemnly.

"Who…why do you look like that?"

He walked toward her. He was wearing a blue shirt with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up, his tan pants neatly pressed. "You said the last time we spoke that you did not wish me to take the appearance of someone you already knew." His voice had the same low, rough quality as before, but in this body it suited him.

"Who are you, then?" Eli asked. He came to a stop a few inches from where she stood, so that she had to tilt her head back to look him in the face.

"His name is James Novak," Castiel said. "He is my destined vessel. I have not taken him yet, but I thought that it would be best if you grew accustomed to seeing me in this form."

"Ah," she said, appraising him. "Good choice." He looked confused.

"It was not my choice. He is destined to be…"

"Yeah yeah, I get it," she said, trying to change the subject. "What about the clothes? Nice chinos."

He looked down at himself as if surprised to be wearing anything at all. "I am simply taking on the appearance of the clothing he is wearing at this moment."

"And what if he wasn't wearing anything?" she asked, a smile playing on her lips.

He frowned, his brow crinkling, apparently deep in thought. Finally he looked up. "That is of no importance. I am here to see you about your attempts to control your powers."

"And?" she asked, expecting another reprimand.

"And I have been sent to help you develop them."

Eli hesitated, confused. "You… have? I mean, you will?"

He shifted on his feet and looked beyond her, his mouth set in a straight line, brow furrowed. "I have convinced my superiors that if you are going to keep your power, you might as well be able to use it properly. They agreed, after much debate. The responsibility to train you has been laid on my head."

"Oh," she said, looking down at her hands. "Thank you."

"I simply did not wish for you to die by a demon's hand when it could have been easily prevented," he said stiffly.

"Right, well, considering heaven hates me and most of my dreams lately consist of disembodied angel voices screaming that I'm a monster, the fact that you _don't_ want me dead is very much appreciated," Eli said, smiling. "I'd hug you if I didn't think it would make you highly uncomfortable."

"Yes. It would be best if you did not," he said with no humor in his voice. "Are you ready to begin? We haven't much time. You don't sleep much lately."

"To learn how to use my semi-angelic powers for something other than powering an easy-bake oven? I'll sleep all day," she quipped. He frowned at her.

"That would not be advisable."

Eli rolled her eyes and sighed. "Let's just do this."

* * *

It took a long time, but Eli finally got the hang of things. She learned that she could not only burn demons, but exorcize them with a touch and a lot of concentration. The rush of power was incredible, like electricity buzzing in her bones. Often her dreams would be dark and terrifying, the demons in them realistic as they clawed and hissed and spat at her, but Castiel was always by her side, guiding her with steady words, and slowly her abilities grew.

She also learned that she could, if she concentrated very hard, locate an angel if one was nearby and sometimes even hear snippets of their conversations, but this was one of the most difficult tasks and often left her with a pounding migraine when she awoke. Her healing powers were also very weak, her ability to heal minor cuts and abrasions not worth the splitting headaches they caused.

"Don't push yourself too hard," Castiel told her time after time. "Ignore the pleasant sensation that accompanies the power. If you drain yourself by tackling a problem too large, you could fall into a coma or worse."

Exorcism was by far her best skill. After a year Eli wasn't just exorcising demons, she was killing them. After two years, she didn't even have to fully touch their skin; she could hold her hand a few inches away and still fry the demon to a crisp.

"Good," Castiel said once, standing next to her in a dark dream-street. "You are progressing quickly."

"Yeah, I can feel it," she said, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "The headaches aren't nearly as bad anymore."

"Your fighting skills do seem to be your strongest attribute."

"Yeah, why do you think that is?" She pushed her braid behind her shoulder and turned to face him. He was staring at the dead dream-demon with a thoughtful frown on his face.

"It is probably because your father is a warrior."

"My real father?" Eli asked, taking a step closer to Castiel and touching him lightly on the sleeve. "Cas, do you know who he is?"

He stared at her hand as if it were some strange foreign entity. "Yes."

"Who is he?" she asked. "Can you tell me?"

"I should not…" he began, but she interrupted him.

"Are they listening to us now? Will they know if you do?"

"No…" he said slowly.

"Then Cas, please tell me. I think I have a right to know."

Castiel was silent for such a long time Eli began to think he had fallen asleep standing up. Finally he nodded.

"All right."

* * *

It was shortly after that that Eli began to explore new ways to use her gifts.

She could now practice her talents in the real world. Standing in Bobby's yard full of trucks, she hefted a baseball and concentrated. It took over a month of attempts until finally she got the ball to flare with light, but every time it left her hands it would fizzle and die out.

Castiel was the one who finally brought it up. "Your power is drained lately," he said one night as she arrived in dream-world, this time standing in an abandoned warehouse. "You have been using it too frequently outside of our visits."

"Yeah, well, I've been trying something new," she said, turning to face him.

"Which is?" he asked, stepping into the light.

Eli's jaw dropped. "What…what are you _wearing_?" she asked, giggling helplessly.

Castiel looked down at his image. He was barefoot and in a flannel nightshirt and pants, complete with cartoon dancing pandas. "What my vessel is wearing at this moment," he said sternly. "Is there a problem?"

Eli nearly doubled over with laughter. "You are not teaching me how to fight demons in your jim-jams!" she gasped out, tears in her eyes.

He pondered this for a moment. "So I am to take it that this is…inappropriate dress for the situation," he said carefully. Eli wheezed, laughter coming out of her in snorts and jerks.

"Yeah, inappropriate…unless you want me to get you a teddy bear and some chocolate milk!" Then she couldn't speak anymore, the laughter was too strong.

"Hm," he said, eyeing her nearly prone form. "This is a problem. I did not realize that mirth could be so…incapacitating."

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Eli breathed, holding her hands up. "I got this. Whew." She stood and wiped tears from her eyes, a few final giggles escaping her lips. "I needed that. I haven't laughed much lately."

"I am glad to have been of service," Castiel said, and if she didn't know any better she would say he sounded sarcastic. "Is this more appropriate?"

He was back in the button-down blue shirt and tan pants. Eli nodded. "Much."

"So," he said, brushing past the previous conversation as if it never happened. "What exactly are you attempting to achieve by draining all of your power into a small leather ball?"

"The ball is just the first step," she explained, still breathing deeply in an attempt to calm her aching sides. "I'm trying to project the light into an object that I can then send away from my body."

He tilted his head like a bird. "Why?"

"Because," Eli said, closing her eyes and concentrating. She had long ago learned that, this being her dreams, she could control certain aspects of the situation. After a moment she felt the familiar flush of metal against her palms and held up her weapons. "I'm a really good shot."

Castiel took a few steps forward until he was unsettlingly close her, studying the guns carefully. At this proximity Eli could even smell him; he must have taken on every physical aspect from his soon-to-be vessel. He smelled of faint cologne and laundry detergent and warm skin and, underneath it all, a tinge of sunlight and clean air. She breathed deeply.

"How do you plan to use human projectile weapons in coincidence with your power?" he asked, completely oblivious to her thoughts. Eli blushed and stepped away.

"If I can project my power into my guns, or more specifically into the bullets, then I could weaponize it, kill demons from a greater distance with greater speed."

She waited for Castiel to tell her that this was stupid, that it couldn't be done, or that it was a misuse of her power, that it went against God or angels or something. He merely tilted his head.

"Hmmm," he said. "That would be … difficult. But possible. I have never… considered using heaven's light in such a way."

Eli breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "That's because you're not human," she said. Inside she repeated the words, trying to force herself to remember the same thing. "It's called thinking outside the box."

"And you think that this… ability, should you achieve it, would better enable you to protect yourself and those around you, to do God's work?" He looked at her now, his eyes steely in the dim light. She nodded.

"Yeah, I do."

"Then, I believe that I can help. But you will need patience. This will take many years. And you must follow my every instruction and promise not to attempt anything outside of our visits. Do you understand?"

She nodded again. "Cross my heart."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means yes," Eli said, smiling.

"Good," he said in his rough voice, stepping closer to her again and putting two fingers on her forehead to calm her mind. "You must start with meditation and relaxation. Practice clearing your mind. The channeling will come later. Much later."

* * *

It took nearly four years.

Eli was just learning to use two guns at once when her training was interrupted. Castiel suddenly stopped appearing her dreams. For a few nights she simply wandered the abandoned streets, buildings, and fields of her mind, calling his name. After a month she resigned herself that he wasn't coming back and began practicing on her own.

One evening she was cooking dinner in an empty house. Eli was now twenty-five and had long left Bobby's; she had been hunting alone for years. The owners were away for the summer at their vacation home in Bali, and it hadn't taken much to convince neighbors that the cute girl with the buns on top of her head was the house sitter. Plus, there was a lot of demon activity in the general area to keep her busy, and it was wonderful to sleep on a cloud-soft bed and cook with a fully-stocked kitchen.

She had an apron around her waist and was just taste-testing her homemade marinara sauce when she sensed she wasn't alone.

"Hello, Elijah."

Eli spit out the scalding sauce and spun around. "Castiel? Where have you been?" She smiled at his familiar face, noting the suit and loose, John Constantine-eque trench coat he wore, but then saw the unknown darker man lurking behind him. "Wait a minute, is this a dream?"

"This is not a dream, Elijah," Castiel said, in a more formal manner than he used in years. She realized, intuitively, that it was for the benefit of the other angel. "The seals are being broken. The apocalypse is fast approaching. I have taken my vessel."

"Oh…wow." She paused, unsure of what to say. "Uh, who's your friend?"

"This is Uriel," Castiel said, inclining his head to the other angel. "He is a specialist. He is here to…help facilitate an agreement."

"What kind of agreement?" Eli asked suspiciously.

"Call it a business arrangement," Uriel said in a booming voice. His vessel was broad shouldered, dark and bald, with a glowering, pugilistic face. "Though it sickens me that heaven has to enter into any kind of arrangement with _you_." He said 'you' as if it tasted badly in his mouth. Eli crossed her arms and gritted her teeth.

"Oh, so you're one of _those_ angels," she snapped. "Sorry to sully your holy purity with my ungodly presence."

"Apology noted," he said, not understanding her sarcasm. "But it does not change anything."

Eli decided it would be best to ignore him. She turned instead to the angel she had long considered her friend. "Why are you here, Cassss….tiel," she stuttered at his stern look, realizing that a show of familiarity would not be appropriate. He gazed at her steadily, but there was an echo of something in his eyes: Worry? Trepidation? Doubt?

"The Winchesters," he finally said, turning away from her. "You know of them."

"Yeah, they're friends with Bobby Singer. Hunters. Sam and Dean, right? But…Dean Winchester's dead, isn't he? I heard he was pulled into hell." She didn't add, _I know because I held Bobby as he cried like a baby after it happened._

"Dean Winchester is no longer in hell," Uriel intoned. "He walks the earth once more. He has been saved."

"Oh," Eli said, surprised. "I didn't know you could do that."

"That's because we usually don't," Castiel said, still not looking at her. It was so strange to see him in real life; he looked somehow more… three-dimensional. More tangible, and yet fragile, like she could sense the blood humming in his veins. He crossed his long fingers in front of him contemplatively. "Dean is… very special. Important. He has work to do."

"As do you," Uriel said coldly, and Eli jerked her head back to him. "Though you are not nearly as important or special."

"Thanks for that," she intoned dryly. "What do you want me to do?" She directed the question at Castiel, but again it was Uriel who answered her.

"Protect them."

"Excuse me?" She turned to Uriel, quirking an eyebrow. "Did I hear you correctly?"

"You have been working for the past six years to turn your polluted abilities into a weapon, have you not?" he sneered. She put her hands on her hips.

"Listen, buddy, I know you're an angel and all, but I don't really appreciate…"

"Just answer the question, Elijah," Castiel said quietly.

"Yes, I have," she snapped. "But you already knew that."

"Now is your chance to use them for something good," Uriel said with scorn in his voice, as if he could barely believe that he was saying it. "To rise above the abominative nature of your birth. Accept this assignment, protect the Winchesters, and Heaven will be inclined to… reward you for your efforts."

"Reward me with what?" Eli asked suspiciously. Uriel stared at her, hard, his hulking body intimidating.

"We can make you pure. Give you what you lack, deep within your soul."

"Yeah, that's great, but what does it _mean_?" Eli bit out, frustrated.

"A grace," Castiel said quietly, with a strange note of sadness in his voice. "He's talking about blessing you with a grace."

"An _angelic_ grace?" she asked, her hands falling from her sides in shock. "Wait wait wait, as in, get my wings? As in, _become an angel?"_

"It is within our power," Uriel said stiffly in his deep voice. "If you prove yourself, if you redeem yourself, to wash away your sins and accept you into the heavenly fold."

"And you want this?" she scoffed skeptically.

"Of course not," Uriel said with venom. "It would be a disgrace on all of us to allow such an abomination to join the brotherhood. But we have our orders, and I will not disobey them. The Winchesters must be kept safe. You are the choice of Heaven. Will you accept your duties?"

Eli looked at Castiel, who was carefully avoiding her eyes. "This is true, then," she said. "I could really become an angel."

"Yes," Castiel said, very softly. "If you wish it."

"I… I don't know what to say," Eli said, almost shyly. She twisted her hands, realizing belatedly that she was still wearing the 'If You Can't Take the Heat, Get Out Of The Kitchen!' apron she had found in the house. "I'll need to think on it."

"There isn't time," Uriel growled.

"No, I mean…" She took a deep breath. "Of course I'll protect the Winchesters. Of course. I just… need to think about this whole angel thing for a while. It's a generous offer, I just need…time."

Uriel started to say something but Castiel held up his hand. "We understand," he said, finally meeting her eyes, and she was surprised to see something akin to relief reflected in their depths. "Just… complete your duties. Protect them, and … Heaven will be grateful."

Eli knew she was being crazy, but for a moment she could have sworn he was about to say _I_ instead of _Heaven._ She shook herself out of it.

"Great." She looked down and started to unknot the apron from around her waist. "Where do I find them?"

"Go to Robert Singer," Uriel intoned loftily. "He will lead you to them. Go now."

"Okay, but what should I…" Eli looked up, but the two angels were gone. "Damn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This seems a good place to reiterate that I've never seen past Season 7, and this series reflects that. I heard from a reviewer that a Nephilim apparently appears in Season 8, which I was unaware of. This story is therefore non-canon compliant and my Nephilim has nothing in common with the show's._
> 
> _Thanks for reading!_


	7. Heaven and Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Present Day...** _

"So Daddy's an angel who was a little too enthusiastic about his job and that makes you the black sheep of the family, eh?" Dean said. They were sitting in another bar at a small round table, the air thick with smoke and the 80's rock wheezing out of the ancient jukebox in the corner, nursing beers and watching Sam run a con on a pool player.

"We've already been over this, Dean," Eli said wearily. Her head pounded and she was tired, tired enough that she was starting to get bitchy and definitely too tired to be sitting here shooting the shit with no case in sight. All she wanted at that moment than a deep soft bed and about a million years of sleep.

"Yeah, I know, but it's a little hard to swallow," Dean said, taking a long drink, his eyes never leaving his brother, who was weaving drunkenly as he tried to steady the pool stick. "I mean, come on, angel spawn? Magical guns? Clarence getting her wings? It's a bit much, don't you think?"

"You ring a bell and I'll rip out your fucking throat," she snapped. "Plus, you were pulled from hell by an angel, Sam's got demon powers, and your gun is _actually magical_."

"Touché," he said, setting his beer down on the table. "Well, it looks like I've got to save baby brother from losing all of our hard-earned money. Poor kid just can't hold his drink." He winked at Eli and ambled away.

Eli rested her elbows on the table and pressed her thumbs into the edges of her eye sockets, right below her brows, like she could lift the front of her skull and alleviate some of the pressure inside. She couldn't decide if she was pleased or irritated that her secret had gotten out so quickly, but despite her general grumpiness, she was leaning toward pleased. The two brothers had enough of their own supernatural problems that they barely batted an eye at Eli's story.

Plus, she thought, dropping her hands from her face and casting her gaze idly around the room, hanging around with them certainly meant that she would be seeing a lot more of Cas in the real world. She knew it was wrong – hell, it was _blasphemous_ —to think about her angelic friend that way, but she couldn't deny the little jump of excitement deep in her belly whenever she saw him. It was hard to think of his appearance as just a vessel; she had known him that way for six years, as he trained her, stood by her, showed her who she was. And besides, she thought, taking a sip of beer, heaven hated her anyway, so a little extra blasphemy couldn't hurt.

Suddenly she was jerked out of her reverie by the sight of Sam and Dean having a tense conversation with a woman at the bar. Eli couldn't see her face at first, but when her head turned she immediately recognized the monstrous visage of a demon. She leapt to her feet and pushed her way to the bar as fast as she could.

"Oh look, and your little guard dog is here, too," the demon said as Eli approached, hand raised. Sam stopped her by grabbing her arm.

"Eli, no! It's okay, she's here to help. Her name is Ruby."

"She's a demon, Sam," Eli said, struggling a little in his grip. Dean snorted.

"That's what I've been trying to get through his thick skull."

"She's cool, I promise," Sam said. "She's helped me a lot. You just…" He sighed deeply. "You're gonna have to trust me."

Eli glared at the demon, who smirked back at her; through the nasty, oozing image Eli could barely see the attractive young woman underneath. "Fine," she snapped. Sam didn't believe her.

"So if I drop your arm, you'll be okay?" he asked.

"I said fine!" She jerked her arm out of his grasp and rubbed it. "Man, way to give me Indian brushburn, jackass."

"Tell her what you told us," Sam urged Ruby. The demon tossed her black hair over her shoulder and uncrossed her legs, looking smug.

"A girl named Anna Milton escaped from a locked ward yesterday. The demons want to find her. Badly."

"You know why?" Eli asked coldly.

"We were hoping you could tell us," Sam said in a soft voice, resting his elbow on the bar and giving her an intense stare. Eli shook her head, tugging down the sleeves of her long-sleeved shirt and pulling her hair into a messy bun. It looked like her lazy evening of aspirin and Benadryl was going to have to wait.

"I'm not really tuned into Angel Radio. Mostly I only hear things when they _want_ me to hear them. I'm as in-the-know as you are. But I'm guessing the idea is to find her first, am I right?"

"That's what I said," Sam agreed.

"And I said that we're already working a case," snapped Dean stubbornly, crossing his arms over his leather jacket, his almost delicate mouth twisted in distrust and hate.

"No we're not," Eli said.

"Yes, we are."

"No, we're not."

"Yes, we…"

"Guys!" Sam held up his hands, then turned to Dean. "Look it's two to one…" He glanced at Eli nervously. "Isn't it?"

She nodded, signaling to the bartender for another beer. "Looks that way."

"This system is flawed," Dean groused, but gave in. "So the hospital Anna escaped from - it got a name?"

* * *

The girl Anna clearly had some kind of psychic power, they discovered after a trip to the hospital. At her house, they found nothing but the dead bodies of her parents and the stink of sulfur.

Eli felt a pain in her chest as she knelt by the two corpses. She couldn't imagine her parents lying there. She hadn't even visited them in over two years. At times like these, she wondered if she had made the right choice, walking away from everything she loved into a world of near-certain death, where even heaven itself hated her.

"Eli, you okay?" Sam asked, crouching next to her. She nodded fiercely, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Fine," she said, standing. "Where are we going now?"

Dean held up a photo in a frame. "Church," he said grimly.

* * *

The three of them entered the church attic with guns drawn.

"Anna?" Sam called out. He motioned for Dean and Eli to put away their guns. "We're not gonna hurt you. We're here to help." He paused, but the room stayed silent. "My name is Sam. This is my brother, Dean, and our friend, Eli."

After a moment of hesitation a red head peeked out from behind a screen. "Sam? Not Sam Winchester?"

Sam glanced back at Dean and Eli with raised eyebrows. "Uh, yeah."

The woman moved into the light skittishly, like a wounded deer. She was thin, breakably so, and her big eyes studied the trio with hesitant, unbelieving wonder.

"And you're Dean. The Dean?" she asked, hope lifting her voice. She pushed a curtain of red hair away from the hollow edges of her face, her fingers long and delicate. Eli felt like she could blow on her and she would crumble into a pile of salt and bone.

Dean's expression flitted between impressed, confused, and prideful. "Well, yeah. _The_ Dean, I guess," he said, puffing out his chest.

Anna rushed toward them as if unable to help herself. "It's really you!" she exclaimed, seizing Dean's hands. "Oh, my God. The angels talk about you. You were in hell, but Castiel pulled you out, and some of them think you can help save us. And some of them don't like you at all. They talk about you all the time lately. I feel like I know you." She turned to Eli. "And you! Elijah Grant! The Nephilim. Oh, you're so very important to them, you don't even know, and they're not happy about it. They call you an Abomination. But I think you're doing God's work."

There was a pause as everyone absorbed this information and Anna just beamed happily. "Sooo…." Dean started, scratching the back of his neck. "You talk to angels?"

Anna shook her head fiercely. "Oh, no. No, no way. They probably don't even know I exist. I just kind of... overhear them."

Eli gaped at this, falling out of step with the conversation for a few crucial seconds. All she could think of was how much Heaven disliked anyone intruding into its territory, and how very fucked everyone was going to be when the angels found out.

Eli was shaken out of her dark thoughts when Anna turned inexplicably to her and asked, as if needing the reassurance of another woman: "Hey, um, do you know - are my parents okay? I didn't go home. I was afraid."

Eli's mouth went dry. How was she supposed to answer that? Unbidden, the image of Anna's dead parents flooded her mind, except this time it was Eli's parents lying in their own blood. Eli swallowed hard, refusing to meet the redhead's eyes.

"I, uh…"

At that exact moment, Ruby rushed in. Eli had never been so happy to see a demon in her life.

"You got the girl," Ruby said, glancing around nervously. "Good, let's go."

Anna screamed, backing up so fast Eli was afraid that she would trip over the old carpet. "Her face!"

"It's okay, Anna," Eli said, moving quickly to her side. "I know, I can see it too. But she's here to help."

"Yeah, don't be so sure," Dean muttered.

"We have to hurry," Ruby said as fast as she could, practically jogging in place. "A demon's coming - big-timer." She looked at Dean, and even with the image of the demon underneath Eli could see the blatant panic in her eyes. "We can fight later, Dean."

He ignored her look of fear, instead snarling: "Well, that's pretty convenient - showing up right when we find the girl with some big wig on your tail?"

"Dean, I think she's telling the truth," Eli called from the back of the room, cradling a hysterical Anna in her arms.

"I didn't bring him here," Ruby insisted. "You did. He followed you from the girl's house. We got to go. _Now._ "

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed, pointing, and all of their heads whipped to witness one of the creepiest things Eli had ever seen: thick blood dripping like viscous tears down from the eyes of a Virgin Mary statue.

"It's too late," Ruby said grimly. "He's here."

"Eli, take Anna to the closet," Sam said in a terse voice. She complied, tucking the terrified girl into the confined space.

"Everything's gonna be okay," she whispered, not believing her own words. "Just stay very quiet." She shot Anna a brief smile and then rushed to join the brothers.

"Now's not the time to bellyache about Sam going dark side," Ruby was saying. "He does his thing, he exorcises that demon, or we die."

"No!" Eli yelped, just as the demon, in the guise of an older white man, burst into the room. Sam held up his hand instinctively. The demon smirked.

"That tickles," he drawled, flinging his opponent down the stairs. "You don't have the juice to take me on, Sam."

Eli pulled out her guns, but she couldn't make them flare. She tried again, pouring all of her strength into the metal, but all she could make them do was flicker weakly. She looked up at the demon's rotted face, scared and confused. He was waving a finger at her.

"Uh uh, don't even try it, little Nephilim. You're not even close to Sammy's strength, and even he can't make me go _ouch_. Trying too hard would just drain all of your life force, and we don't want that, do we? Especially not when we have so much to discuss." He waved his hand and sent Eli flying to the back of the room. "I'll deal with you later."

Eli crashed through a screen and into a table, sending it shattering to the floor. She lay in a heap, stunned and surrounded by splintered wood. Someone screamed. After a moment her vision cleared and she hauled herself to her feet, stumbling dizzily. The back of her head felt damp; she touched it, and her fingers came away red with blood.

Suddenly Sam and Dean were running at her. Dean grabbed her arm, propelling her toward the stained-glass window. "Jump!" he yelled in her ear, giving her just enough time to throw her arms up and protect her eyes before all three of them shattered the glass and went flying to the ground.

* * *

"Are you almost done?" Dean shouted from the bathroom, his voice thick with irritation and pain.

"I'm going as fast as I can," Eli said from her spot on the bed. She pulled another stitch through the gash near Sam's shoulder, trying to make it as clean and even as possible. Dean marched shirtless out of the bathroom to glare at them.

"Good, 'cause you know I got a dislocated shoulder over here."

"I'll pop it back when she's finished," Sam said, wincing and taking another swig from the whisky bottle.

"Hold still," Eli commanded, threading the last stitch. "I'm almost done."

"You know, what I don't get is, if you have these super-special angel powers, why can't you just, you know, lay your hands on us and be done with it?" Dean asked, watching them from the bathroom doorway. Eli frowned and stuck her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated.

"Because," she said, knotting the end of the string. "I have very limited healing powers. Just cleaning up the wound on the back of my own head took out most of my juice. Any more and I'd probably be convulsing on the floor with a bloody nose. Done!" She pulled away from Sam to scrutinize her handiwork, then turned to Dean with a wry look, the shadows under her eyes tellingly prominent. "I guess you could say I'm a fighter, not a lover."

Dean shook his head and directed the next question at Sam. "So, you lost the magic Knife, huh?"

"Yeah, saving your ass," Sam huffed, standing and stretching carefully. He inspected the row of neat stitches, gave Eli a quick smile of thanks, and shrugged his shirt back on. "Who the hell was that demon?"

"No one good," Dean said grimly. "We got to find Anna."

Sam walked over to Dean and placed one hand on his shoulder, the other on his arm. "Ruby's got her. I'm sure she's okay." He gritted his teeth in preparation. "All right. Come on. On three. One..."

With a startling crack and a gasp of pain from Dean he reset the dislocated joint.

"You sure about Ruby?" Dean asked, wincing and rubbing his shoulder. "'Cause I think it's just as likely she used us to find radio girl and then brought that demon in to kill us."

"I agree with Dean," Eli said, kicking off her boots and sitting cross-legged on the bed. She felt disgusting, the hair on the back of her head still matted with blood, her shirt grimy with sweat. "How do we know she's really doing this to protect Anna? Why hasn't she called to tell us what's going on?"

"Because that demon is probably watching us right now, waiting to follow us right back to Anna again. That's why he let us go." Sam seemed so sure of himself that Dean snorted as he pulled on a black shirt and picked up the bottle of whiskey from off the ground.

"You call this letting us go?" he asked, taking a long drink and sitting on the bed next to Eli. He offered it to her and she accepted, wincing as the liquid burned her throat. The boys continued to argue, but all Eli wanted to do was shower. Or go to sleep. She felt like little weights were attached at the corner her eyelids, dragging her down. She missed the days when sleep meant a night full of hunting dream-demons with Castiel. Nowadays she had only nightmares.

"Hey, and I'm not trying to pick a fight here," Dean was saying, holding up his hands placatingly. "I mean, I really want to understand. But I need to know more. I mean, I deserve to know more."

"Because... " Sam said in a halting, oddly emotional voice. "She saved my life."

And then he told them a gross and entirely too-explicit story.

And then Ruby showed up wearing a maid.

And then Eli realized that it was going to be one very long, showerless, sleepless night.

_Fuck._

* * *

At the cabin Anna immediately rushed to Eli and fell into her arms. Eli rubbed her back and murmured what she hoped were calming words as she watched Dean and Ruby argue on the other side of the room. She didn't know why the girl seemed so attached to her. Maybe it was because she was the only other female who wasn't a demon. Or maybe it was because of her status as heavenly bodyguard. ( _Mostly useless heavenly bodyguard_ , her mind amended nastily.) Either way, it was disconcerting. The only person Eli had turned to for comfort in the past six years was Bobby Singer, and his comforting skills usually involved insults to her intelligence, self-medicating with alcohol and shooting tin cans off of a fence.

Anna was tall, a bit taller than Eli, but she was hunched over so that they were eye to eye. "Hey, do you know… are my parents okay?" she asked tentatively. "I'd love to call them and let them know I'm safe, they must be freaked…"

She trailed off, noting the pained look in Eli's eyes. "What?" she asked, taking a step back. "Eli, what is it?"

"Oh shit, Anna…" Eli mouthed the words awkwardly for a few seconds before finally spitting them out. "Anna, I'm so sorry, but your parents…they didn't make it."

Anna backed away, her hands covering her face. "No, oh no no no…"

Sam guided her onto a bench. "Hey, hey now…" he said, with a soothing ease that Eli could only envy. Anna began to weep into his shoulder.

"Why is this happening to me?" she cried, rocking back and forth like a child. "Oh, God…"

"I don't know," Sam said helplessly, looking at the others. "I wish I did."

Suddenly Anna stopped crying and sat up, her eyes glazed over. "They're coming," she whispered. Eli concentrated, hard, and there it was: the familiar glimmer in the back of her mind. For once she wasn't happy to feel it.

"Back room," Dean ordered.

"Dean," Eli began.

"Where's the Knife?" Ruby demanded.

"Uh, about that," Dean said, not meeting the demon's eyes.

" _Dean_ ," Eli said again.

"You have got to be kidding," snapped Ruby.

"Hey, don't look at me," Dean said, holding up his hands.

"Dean!" Eli shouted, and they all turned to look at her. She was breathing heavily, feet planted on the ground with determination and just a little bit of fear. "You don't need the Knife."

Dean stared her down like she was personally responsible for the situation. "Why not?"

"Because it's not demons that are coming. It's angels. And they are pissed."

Just as the words left her mouth the doors to the cabin opened with a blast, flooding the room with power that sparked like electricity in dry heat. The angels followed in its wake.

"Please tell me you're here to help," Dean said, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. He was pale, the edges of his mouth tight, the delicate skin at the corner of his eyes pinched and lined. "We've been having demon issues all day."

"I can see that." Uriel stared coldly at Ruby. "Your company just keeps getting worse and worse, doesn't it?" he asked, his gaze drifting to Eli.

Eli stared him down. She knew angels, better than anyone, and all the little details—Uriel's aggressive stance, the almost invisible slump of Castiel's shoulders, the grand entrance—were warning signs that something very, very bad was about to happen. "They're not here to help," she said in a low voice. She shifted her eyes to Castiel, trying to force him to look at her, but he refused.

"We're here for Anna," Castiel said, his face carefully blank.

"Are you gonna help her?" Sam asked. Eli shook her head.

"No, they're not," she repeated, dropping her stance lower, ready to spring.

"Elijah is right," Castiel intoned, still not looking at her, his voice solemn and hard. "Anna has to die."

"Why?" Sam asked. Eli shot him a look.

"Does it matter?" she countered, her hands inches away from her guns.

Uriel walked towards Dean with a slow menacing gate, his dark eyes brimming with barely-contained anticipation. Dean held up his hands, trying to reason with him, and Eli took the opportunity to edge to the door that guarded Anna, stationing herself in front of it, guns out. It felt wrong, facing an angel with a gun. She didn't know if her power would even work against the Host, but it was the only weapon she had.

Still, what if it did work? Unbidden, the thought of her white bullets piercing through Castiel's chest came to mind, blood blossoming across his white shirt, his mouth slack with pain and surprise as he staggered back into a wall and… she violently shoved the thought away, feeling sick. No. That would never happen.

"You're some heartless sons of bitches, you know that?" Dean snarled.

"As a matter of fact, we are. And?" Castiel's voice was calm, but his eyes had finally found Eli's, and there was something almost… pleading reflected in their blue depths. Like he was asking forgiveness. Eli turned away. Her hands were shaking.

"Anna's an innocent girl," Sam said, in that sad-puppy voice of his. Castiel shook his head, his trench coat lifting in a nonexistent breeze.

"She is far from innocent," he rasped.

Sam glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means she's worse than this monster you've been screwing, even worse than the half-human freak, who, by the way, is supposed to be _helping_ us, and whose disobedience and obstinence will be noted. Now give us the girl." Uriel took another step forward, his solid bulk like a threatening wall. Dean stood his ground.

"Sorry. Get yourself another one." He put on the fake-light tone he only used when he was really scared. "Try JDate."

Uriel smirked, the look of a man who knows he has the absolute upper hand. Eli felt sudden pity for his vessel, who must have agreed to be inhabited because he thought it would be by something holy, and instead he got this douchebag using up his body like an old condom. "Who's gonna stop us?" he asked scornfully. "You two? The Abomination? Or this demon bitch?" As a show of strength he threw Ruby against the wall by barely twitching a finger. Dean lunged at him, only to be swatted away like a fly.

Sam began begging fruitlessly— "Cas, stop...please"—only to crumple to the ground like a broken doll at the lightest touch of Castiel's fingers to his forehead.

Castiel turned to face Eli; she had dropped her guns and stood as a human blockade, her fists and jaw clenched. "Eli, move," he said, almost pleadingly. "I don't want to have to do this."

She shook her head. "No."

On the other side of the room, Uriel was pummeling Dean into the ground.

Castiel sighed, lifting two fingers to her forehead. "I am sorry," he said. She flinched back, squeezing her eyes shut, but he was too fast. He touched her skin.

Nothing happened.

Eli cracked her eyes open. Castiel was standing there, fingers still pressed to her forehead, clearly confused. She took the opportunity to knock his hand out of the way and then, flaring her fist with white fire, punched him in the face.

Normal human attacks did nothing to angels, but this one actually landed, her light cutting through his barrier. He stumbled backward, holding his cheek, surprised. Then his eyes hardened and he straightened, shook out his trench coat, and strode toward her purposefully.

It was at that moment that everything went white. The angels disappeared in a screaming flash. Something inside of Eli was blown away, and she collapsed into unconsciousness.

* * *

The next thing Eli knew she was on Bobby's couch and someone was hovering over her. She felt the brush of long hair against her skin and smelled a familiar, angelic sunshine-and-summer-breeze scent, though this one was unmistakably feminine.

"Nghhh," she muttered, cracking her eyes open to see Anna smiling down at her. "Whha…" She couldn't get her jaw muscles to work. She swallowed and tried again. "Wha…happened?"

"Hi, Eli," Anna said, sitting back, her fingers warm against Eli's cheek. "Good to see you back in the land of the living. How do you feel?"

Eli struggled to sit up but it was like every muscle in her body had turned to jelly. Bobby appeared behind her, lifting her gently and propping her back against pillows. Sam pressed a glass into her hand. "Like I just got hit by a truck," she groaned, pausing to drink deeply through a straw. "What the hell happened?"

"That was my fault, I'm afraid," Anna said, looking sheepish. "I didn't understand who I was, what I was doing. I wrote the blood-spell to send away the angels, and you're half-angel. So your body stayed here, but it sort of…sent away your mind."

Eli stared at her. She knew that Anna was different, but she couldn't put her finger on how. "You're…it's strange, you feel like an angel, but I can't sense…"

"I have no grace," Anna finished. "When I ripped mine out I was reborn mostly human. Very few powers." Her lips curled upward, but it only made her look rueful. "You were sent so very far away; it was extremely difficult for me to bring you back."

"Well…thanks, I guess," Eli said lamely, sipping at her drink.

"Don't mention it."

"All right, are we done with the explanations and crap?" Dean asked, emerging from the kitchen, mouth half-full of sandwich. He swallowed and looked over at Eli. "You okay, kid?"

"Just peachy," she said, with the hint of a smile. He nodded brusquely, but Eli could see by the tense set of his mouth and brow how worried he had been, and it touched her.

"Good. Would've sucked to have a comatose bodyguard on our hands, especially now."

"Where are we going?" Eli asked, pulling herself straighter. Bobby put a hand on her shoulder.

"You're not going anywhere," he said sternly. She batted him away and got to her feet, trying not to wobble.

"I'm fine. It'll just take me a couple hours to recharge. If we're gonna have some kind of final big battle, you'll need me. I was the only one of you losers able to get a punch in. Now, where are we going?"

The two brothers looked at each other, then Sam shrugged and turned back to Eli. "To find Anna's grace."

* * *

Eli crammed herself into the backseat next to Anna, her cheek pressed against the window, her eyes immediately dropping closed. The last thing she heard was Dean's laughter and Ruby's annoyed voice asking: "What?"

"Nothing," he said, grinning. "It's just… two angels and a demon riding in the backseat. It's like the setup to a bad joke... or a penthouse forum letter."

"Dude," Sam said, his tone patronizing. "There's reality... and then there's porn."

Dean snorted. "You call this reality?"

Darkness took her, and for the first time in a long time, Eli slept peacefully.

* * *

The next time she awoke, it was night and Sam was shaking her.

"Eli, hey, you in there?" he asked, sounding a little worried. Blearily she opened her eyes to stare at him.

"Whaddawant?" she grumbled, only then noticing that the other seats were empty and that Sam was crouching outside of the open passenger-side door. She sat up. "Where is everyone? Where are we? How long have I been asleep?"

"All day," Sam said, helping her out of the car. Eli shivered and pulled on her leather jacket; the moon was high, bathing the barn in front of them with an eerie glow. "We tried to wake you earlier, when we checked out the oak tree where Anna's grace landed, but you were out. Nothing could rouse you." A smile quirked his mouth. "You drooled all over Anna's shoulder. Muttered some interesting things in your sleep, too."

Eli's face went beet red as she suddenly remembered some of the dreams she had had. "Oh, ah…so… did you find the grace?" she asked, changing the subject. Sam's face fell.

"No," he said moodily, shoving his hands into his pockets as they walked toward the barn. "It wasn't there. Someone took it."

Inside, they could hear arguing. Ruby's voice was especially heated. "Anna's grace is gone," she was near-yelling, her voice getting louder as they approached. "You understand? She can't angel up. She can't protect us. We can't fight heaven and hell. One side maybe, but not both. Not at once." She stopped abruptly as Sam and Eli came into view. "Oh thank god, the bodyguard is here," she said sarcastically. "Enjoy your nap?"

"Bite me, bitch," Eli snapped.

"Um...guys?" Anna said tentatively. They turned to look at her, sitting on an old wooden table and swinging her feet, her long red hair falling back from her face as she stared at the ceiling. "The angels are talking again."

Sam moved closer to her. "What are they saying?"

"It's weird..." she said slowly, tilting her head. Eli closed her eyes and concentrated, feeling a headache coming on. "Like a recording... a loop. It says: 'Dean Winchester gives us Anna by midnight, or...'"

"Or what?" Dean asked.

"Or we hurl him back to damnation," Eli finished, opening her eyes. "I can hear it too. Looks like they're sending the message out on general public radio."

After that, the emotion in the room delved into utter helplessness.

* * *

Eli couldn't sleep that night, probably because she had slept all day. She was sitting outside and staring at the moon when Anna plunked down next to her, her clothing freshly mussed.

"Hey," she said. Eli said nothing, just continued to stare at the dark sky, freckled with stars and the dim shadows of clouds.

"That's okay," Anna said, sounding wiser than her years. "We can just sit here quietly."

They sat like that for about five minutes.

"Was it really so bad?" Eli asked, wrapping her arms around her dirty pants and shivering in her jacket. The nighttime breeze smelled like hay and the faint scent of horses and grass and rotting wood. "Being an angel, I mean."

"Ah," Anna said. "Is that what they are offering you? I'm not surprised." She paused. "It's not a good life. You have it tough, don't you? Between a rock and a hard place. I can understand why you want acceptance, especially since angels are – technically—your family."

Eli said nothing.

"I can't tell you what to do," Anna continued. "But you would be giving up so much, so many beautiful things about this life."

"I already have," Eli bit out, almost regretfully. "I gave up everything I had for this, to be a hunter, a warrior. And they hate me, they all hate me. But they wouldn't if I was… perhaps… maybe I'm _meant_ be an angel. Maybe that's where I belong."

"Maybe," Anna said, but she didn't sound convinced. "You should also be aware that angels don't always tell the whole truth."

"What do you mean?" Eli looked at her. In the moonlight the fallen angel's face was silver, glowing and strangely beautiful.

"I mean that if they are offering you something like this – something they would never offer anyone – there has to be a catch, and a big one, too."

"Do you have any idea what that catch is?" Eli asked, pulling the sleeves of her jacket over her numb fingers.

"I couldn't say," she said. "All I know is that if they want you to be an angel, it's because they have a problem with you the way you are. For angels to offer someone a grace means that they are really, really scared."

"Scared?"

Anna stared at her calmly. "Of what you could become."

"I don't understand," Eli complained.

Anna leaned her head against the wall and stared at the moon. "No," she murmured. "You wouldn't."

Suddenly Eli noticed that Anna's blouse was inside out and her red hair was unusually mussed. "Anna, you didn't…" She looked the fallen angel in the face. Anna flushed and looked away. "You did, didn't you?" she asked slowly. "Wow. Not that I blame you. Last night on earth and all. How was it?"

"What can I say?" Anna said, smiling her secret smile. "I really, really, really like being human."

"Lucky Dean," Eli muttered bitterly before she could stop herself. "We're all gonna die, at least he got to sleep with _his_ angel." She stopped abruptly, her fingers flying to her mouth. "Shit, oh, fuck, I mean…"

"Oh honey," Anna said, looking at her with nothing but compassion. "It's okay. I already knew. I'm pretty good at reading people." She grinned cheekily. "Plus you mumbled some interesting things in the car."

Then her smile faded. "But it's a bad idea, Eli. He's wrapped up in a pretty package, but he's a cold fish. All angels are. Wouldn't know passion if it bit them on the ass."

"I know," Eli grumbled, embarrassed. "Do…ah… the guys know?"

"They thought you talking in your sleep was pretty funny, but no, they have no idea what any of it meant. I'm a little more...intuitive. Comes from observing humans for over two thousand years. Plus, Sam and Dean are idiots."

Eli cracked a smile, then groaned and buried her head in her knees. "God, I'm so embarrassed. Especially now that he's trying to kill you!"

"Believe me, you having a crush on our resident angel is the least of our worries. It'll pass with time." Anna rubbed her back soothingly. "And hey, if we all die tomorrow, you won't have to worry about it anymore."

"Thanks, Anna," Eli muttered sarcastically into her pants. Anna smiled.

"No problem, sweetie. Just here to help."

* * *

Morning came too quickly.

Ruby was gone, suspiciously. Dean was drinking whisky straight from the bottle and snarking at everyone. Anna looked exhausted, the skin around her eyes blue and shadowed. Sam's hair was sticking up in all directions from running his hands through it all night. Eli just felt like shit.

Then, the angels showed up with a bang.

The barn doors flew open in a whirl of strangely hot wind. Castiel and Uriel walked through them calmly, Castiel's trench coat swirling around him like it had a life of its own. Once they were inside the doors slammed with a ringing crack, leaving all of them trapped.

"Hello, Anna," Castiel said, his gravel voice almost too emotionless, like he had been practicing it in front of a mirror. "It is good to see you."

"How?" Sam burst out, looking wildly around the room. "How did you find us?" His gaze landed on his brother, who was looking down, clearly fascinated by something on his shoe. "Dean?"

Dean looked up but refused to meet anyone's eyes. "I'm sorry," he said brokenly.

Sam took a step toward his brother as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Why?"

"Because they gave him a choice." Anna's voice was amazingly calm and centered. "They either kill me... or kill you. I know how their minds work."

She walked over to Dean and kissed him lingeringly on the mouth. "You did the best you could," she said, looking him in the eyes. Her tone was infinitely compassionate. "I forgive you."

Then she stepped away and turned to the angels. "Okay," she said with finality. "No more tricks. No more running. I'm ready."

"I'm sorry," Castiel said, and for a moment something flickered in his tone.

"No, you're not." Anna said with quiet conviction. "Not really. You don't know the feeling." She caught Eli's gaze for a moment, as if to say, _see?_ Eli nodded.

Castiel shifted awkwardly on his feet, noticing the silent communication between the two women. "Still, we have a history. It's just –"

"Orders are orders." Anna pulled herself straight, as if she was about to mock-salute. She didn't, though, just stood there looking resigned. "I know. Just make it quick."

Eli felt like she was about five seconds from screaming. She hated feeling this helpless, _hated it,_ but most of all she hated that it was Castiel. He couldn't want this—no matter his flaws he wasn't like Uriel, reveling in pain and death. She had known him for _six years_ , damnit, he had to do _something_ , he had to _feel something._ He had fought for her, hadn't he? He had trained her to keep her alive. He couldn't just slaughter one of his own. _He couldn't!_

Castiel took a deep breath. Uriel looked as gleeful as his carved-in-stone face would allow. Anna faced them both with cool bravery.

Eli contemplated flinging herself in front of the fallen angel. She contemplated putting a bullet in Uriel's head. She contemplated throwing herself on the ground and pitching a fit until everyone came to their senses. She contemplated—

"Don't you touch a hair on that poor girl's head!"

Eli's increasingly insane thoughts were interrupted by a familiar nasal whine. A thin, wiry man with hollow features appeared, flanked by demonic cronies and a battered-looking Ruby.

Uriel was furious, his power straining at its ropes, dangerously close to escaping his vessel. "How dare you come into this room, you pussing sore!" he boomed with blistering righteousness.

Alastair merely smiled. "Name-calling," he said in his bleating voice. "That hurt my feelings... you sanctimonious, fanatical _prick_."

"Turn around and walk away now," Castiel rasped authoritatively. Eli could see the change in him immediately—where a moment before he had been empty and cold, now he was blazing, burning, absolutely sizzling with power and grace.

Eli hated that it made her knees a little weak.

Alastair shrugged lazily. "Sure. Just give us the girl. We'll make sure she gets punished good and proper. Actually," he said, his eyes moving to Eli. "We'll take the Halfling, too. Got some things we'd really like to tell her about her… situation." He grinned.

Eli didn't even have time to contemplate what he had just said, because Castiel immediately moved in front of her and growled in a voice more menacing than she thought possible: "You know who we are and what we will do. I won't say it again. Leave now... or we lay you to waste."

Alastair smirked. "I think I'll take my chances."

The battle erupted. Uriel attacked a demon, laying his huge hand on the demon's forehead and watching in satisfaction as it screamed in pain. Castiel lunged at Alastair, and after a moment of grappling, managed to pin him down, hand on his face. Nothing happened. Alastair smiled hugely.

"Sorry, kiddo," he breathed. "Why don't you go run to Daddy?"

He flipped the stunned angel against a pillar and began his own exorcism ritual, muttering blackened words under his breath. Castiel tipped his head back in pain, light beginning to creep out of the corners of his eyes and mouth.

Suddenly Alastair flew to the side and crashed into the wall, something white-hot lodged in his ribs. He looked up, growling, at Eli, who stood there with guns blazing and an absolutely murderous expression on her face. _No one_ touched _her_ angel.

"Guess I can do some damage after all, you evil son of a bitch," she hissed, raising the gun to his head. She was interrupted by Anna's throaty screams and the appearance of a blinding white light.

"Shut your eyes!" Anna howled, her whole body glowing. "Shut your eyes! _Shut your eyes_!"

Eli turned. Time slowed down.

Anna was being consumed by a white light, one that streamed from her pores like a sun under her skin, brilliant and clean and smelling sharp like ozone. Eli was transfixed by the glow. It shined, more warm than fiery; it called to something deep inside of her. Instead of shielding her eyes she moved towards it, hypnotized, her hand reaching out in wonder.

Castiel knocked her to the ground, covering her body with his and her eyes with his hand, as Anna exploded and the light reached unbearable levels.

When it was over they stayed very still for one long moment. Eli could feel Castiel's heart thrumming in his chest, too fast, like a hummingbird's. His body radiated heat, his hand still shielding her eyes, his head dipped to her neck as he breathed in deeply. Then both seemed to realize what was happening and they leapt quickly off of each other, Castiel tugging at his trench coat as if embarrassed.

Eli looked around. The first thing she noticed was that Alastair was gone. The second thing she noticed was that everyone was too busy yelling at each other to see what had just happened between her and the angel.

"This isn't over," Uriel was promising Dean in a deadly voice.

Dean smirked. "Oh, it looks over to me, junkless."

Uriel glared at him, then disappeared. Castiel stayed for a fraction of a second longer, his pained eyes meeting Eli's, before he too vanished with the sound of beating wings.

Eli stayed stock still, staring at the spot where he had been, until she heard Sam say: "So, I guess she's some big-time angel now, huh? She must be happy... wherever she is."

"I doubt it," Dean said, a tired sadness in his voice. Eli hung her head.

Somehow, she doubted it too.


	8. On the Head of a Pin

The months rolled on. Monsters were fought. Seals were broken. The angels rarely appeared in real life, and never in Eli's dreams. And then there was the Reaper situation, where a seal ended up saved, and Pamela Barnes ended up dead.

The mood was grim after that. Dean looked haggard and defeated, withdrawing into himself. Sam was helpless to stop the tide of darkness that loomed over them. And Eli just went along for the ride, moping gloomily in the back seat of the Impala and trying not to get involved as the brothers dealt with their many issues.

The mood was especially bad the day of the funeral. Most of the time was spent in morose silence, the brothers occasionally sniping at each other. At times it was like they had forgotten Eli was there. She didn't mind. She just popped in headphones to drown out their voices and stared out the window, her hair falling limp in her eyes, feeling more numb and exhausted than she had in months.

They entered the motel room in a silent, brooding line. "Home crappy home," Dean muttered, flipping on the light.

"Winchester and Winchester and…" a smug voice started, then trailed off. "Oh, how embarrassing for me."

"My last name is Grant, as you well know, you prick," Eli snapped, hunching her shoulders and crossing her arms. Uriel smiled at her with too many teeth, like a dog staring at a bone. Castiel merely stood there, looking uncomfortable. His shoulders were hunched, too.

Dean looked like he wanted to bash his own head into the wall. "Oh, come on," he groaned disbelievingly.

"You are needed," Uriel intoned.

"Needed?" Dean snapped in outrage. "We just got back from being needed."

"Mind your tone with me," Uriel said, his voice very nearly a sneer.

"No, you mind your damn tone with us!" Dean shouted aggressively, unable to contain himself.

Sam shifted in the background, trying to stay calm. "We just got back from Pamela's funeral," he explained. The reminder of this seemed to incense Dean even more.

"Pamela. You know, psychic Pamela?" He was practically spitting out his words. Eli shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and watched him explode, her eyes wary. "You remember her. Cas!" he exclaimed, turning to the blue-eyed angel, who was standing there looking, to his credit, mildly ashamed. "You remember her. You burned her eyes out. Remember that? Good times." His voice had become a snarl as he began to pace, his shoes shaking off little clumps of dirt into the old motel carpet. "Yeah, then she died saving one of your precious seals. So maybe you can stop pushing us around like chess pieces for five fucking minutes!"

Uriel was unmoved by his rant. "We raised you out of hell for our purposes," he said coldly, eyeing Dean as if he were an irritating insect. Dean got up in his face and nearly shoved him in the chest.

"Yeah, what were those again?" he shouted belligerently. "What exactly did you want from me?"

"Start with gratitude," Uriel snarled, pushing Dean with the lightest of touches. Dean stumbled backward as if he had been punched in the gut.

"Dean, we know this is difficult to understand," Castiel began quietly, but Uriel interrupted, shooting him a glare.

"And we don't care. Now." He laced his fingers in front of his stomach and began to pace the room in even strides, looking for all the world like a lawyer describing his case. "Seven angels have been murdered, all of them from our garrison. The last one was killed tonight."

"Demons?" Dean asked warily. "How're they doing it?"

That's when Eli snapped.

"I'm sorry, but does any of this matter?" she said loudly. Everyone turned to look at her, but she didn't care. It was like the rubber band that had been stretching and stretching inside of her for months had suddenly broken, and she had no more control over her actions. The words poured out of her mouth like they were a sickness, like she had to purge all of the slick dark hatred from her body or she would die. "I am sick and tired of this goddamn game-playing _bullshit_ with you guys. Sick and fucking tired of it! We had to bury someone today. Now I know that doesn't mean anything to you but it meant something to us. So why don't you tell Dean exactly what you want him to do, or I suggest clearing the fuck out of here, because I am tired, and I am pissed, and I am goddamn sick of your sneering, spiteful face, Uriel!"

Eli finished her speech, panting, hands halfway to her guns. Uriel opened his mouth, but only a single syllable escaped before she cut him off again.

"Don't say it!" she screeched. "I mean it, you son of a bitch! Don't even think it!"

Everyone froze and stared at her, red faced, eyes crazed, hair undone and sticking up at odd angles, like she had genuinely gone insane. The silence stretched; the radiator pinged on, the metal clicking and groaning in the glacial room, and the moment broke.

"We have Alastair, but he won't talk," Castiel said in a controlled voice, and everyone's head whipped back to him. "His will is very strong. We need Dean to… break him." He spoke directly to Dean. "That's why we've come to his student. You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we've got." Something in his steady tone shifted, became imploring, almost human. "Dean, you must come with us. You are our best hope."

Dean shook his head fiercely. "No. No way. You can't ask me to do this, Cas. Not this."

Uriel walked toward Dean, but his eyes stayed glued hatefully to Eli's. Finally, a foot away, he looked down at his prey.

"Who said anything about asking?" he snarled, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"No!" Eli and Sam screamed simultaneously, rushing toward him, but it was too late. They were gone.

"Damn it!" Sam groaned. Eli pounded her fist against the wall and closed her eyes. Anna had been right all along: Angels were nothing but cold-hearted bastards. She suddenly wanted to cry.

"Fuck," she said, quietly, pressing her forehead against the wall in exhaustion. "Oh, fuck it all."

* * *

The mood at the warehouse wasn't much better.

"What's going on, Cas?" Dean asked in a half-angry, half-exhausted voice. "Since when does Uriel put a leash on you?"

"My superiors have begun to question my sympathies," Castiel said quietly, looking down. He could feel Dean's stare burning into him, feel his waves of betrayal, his fear and deep-seated wounds. It was almost too much to take.

"Your sympathies?" Dean asked.

"I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You. Your brother." His tongue seemed to stick in his throat as he said the last name. "Elijah. They feel I've begun to express emotions. The doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment."

"So they knock you down the ladder and put Uriel in charge?" Dean asked, and it made Castiel just the tiniest bit happy to hear that he sounded outraged.

"He is a proud and able instrument of God," Castiel recited without really believing it.

"The demotion, doesn't it get your loincloth in a twist?"

Castiel glanced up; Dean was wrinkling his brow at him, unable to detect the angel's sense of resignation, his overwhelming loss and anger and doubt. _She would be able to see it_ , a traitorous voice whispered inside of him, but he squashed that thought quickly. "It is what it is to be," he said flatly. Dean turned away, disgusted by Castiel's apparent lack of emotion.

"Well, tell Uriel, or whoever...you do not want me doing this. Trust me."

"Want it, no," Castiel said roughly. "But I have been told we need it."

Dean stepped closer to the angel, dropping his voice in shame. "Cas, the things that I did, what I became..." he trailed off, then spoke again in a harsh whisper, his voice twisted with guilt. "You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out."

Castiel knew that the hunter was telling the truth. He could smell the fear radiating off of him, acrid and bitter. He thought, briefly, what he would do if it was Eli in this position. An image floated in front of his eyes, of her standing where Dean was, that caustic fear-smell radiating from her pores, her green eyes huge and hollow… he shuddered.

"You know what we're all fighting for," he finally said in a low, resigned voice. "And dying for. What Pamela lost her life for. You know what will happen if we fail. For what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this."

Dean closed his eyes. He seemed very close to tears.

Finally he spoke. "I'll need a few things."

Hours later, as Alastair's screams vibrated the walls from the next room, when Castiel thought he couldn't take the sound or the knowledge of what was happening anymore, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to think of her.

* * *

Eli was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her eyes closed, trying to locate the angels, when Ruby appeared. She didn't pay any attention to the demon and Sam's whispered conversation, just squeezed her eyes tighter and pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead, trying to work through the migraine that was building. She could sense that they were near, in the same city, but they were blocking her, and nothing she did could break the barrier.

"Eli," Sam said suddenly, and she jerked out of her meditation. "You got anything yet?"

"Nothing," she said, looking down at the flowered bedspread. "I can't get through."

Sam seemed nervous. "Well look, Ruby and I are going out to see what we can find. We'll call you if anything happens. You'll be okay here, right?"

She glanced up at him, a little confused at his question. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Oh, okay," he said, shifting, his hand on the doorknob. "It's just that you have a little…" He motioned to his nose and Eli lifted her hand to her own, feeling the blood.

"I'll be fine," she repeated, wiping it off with a tissue. "The biggest issue is finding Dean. So just… go do whatever you need to do and call me if you find anything."

He nodded and left the room. Eli resumed her pose.

An hour later the phone rang. It was Sam. He sounded strange—almost buzzed.

"Yeah, Eli? We found him."

* * *

A slight flickering of the bulbs alerted Castiel to the fact that someone else was in the room. He closed his eyes, wanting more than anything to just be left in peace.

"Anna," he said, attempting to sound cold.

She smiled, faintly, as if she knew a secret that he didn't. "Hello, Castiel."

He turned to face her, surprised at the familiar appearance. "Your human body—" he began.

"It was destroyed, I know," she said, nodding, her red hair tucked behind her ears. "But I guess I'm sentimental. Called in some old favors and..." She gestured to herself, shrugging.

In the next room, Alastair let out a scream. Castiel paused to listen to it, surprised at how the sound ripped at him. He turned back to Anna.

"You shouldn't be here. We still have orders to kill you."

Anna smiled that secretive smile. "Somehow I don't think you'll try. Where's Uriel?"

Uriel: Castiel's superior, now, with his hatred and his violence and his blasphemy. Castiel's fists clenched almost compulsively.

His mind flashed to the motel room, to Eli shouting obscenities to an angel twice her size and 500 times her power, her face red and eyes bright, and his hands dropped out of their fists like someone had laid a cooling hand against his forehead. He realized, with a stab of something resembling fear, that he empathized with her more than his brother, that when she yelled at Uriel Castiel felt only shame that he could not do the same. "He went to receive revelation."

"Right," Anna said, a bit sarcastically. "Cas, why are you letting Dean do this?"

"He's doing God's work," Castiel insisted absently, his mind somewhere else. He could feel how Eli was pushing at the barrier they had erected, trying to find him with her mind. A flash of worry went through him at the thought of how long they had been in this warehouse, how long she had been searching. He knew for a fact that she would be bleeding by now. He wondered how long she would last before the pain became too much.

Anna frowned at him, disappointed. "Torturing? That's God's work? Stop him, Cas, please. Before you ruin the one real weapon you have."

"Who are we to question the will of God?" Castiel asked almost helplessly, pulling his attention back to the conversation.

Anna stood in front of him, close enough to touch, her eyes huge and hollow. "Unless this isn't His will."

Castiel blinked, meeting her eyes for the first time. "Then where do the orders come from?"

"I don't know. One of our superiors, maybe, but not Him." She paused, inching closer. "The Father you love. You think He wants this? You think He'd ask this of you? You think this is righteous?"

Castiel averted his eyes, stepping backward a fraction of an inch. Each question was like a punch to the gut. He had never questioned where his orders came from, he had always had such unshakable belief, such solid faith, and now…

In the other room, Alastair howled.

"What you're feeling?" Anna near-whispered, touching his hand. "It's called doubt."

She waited a second for her words to sink in, then continued in a hopeful voice. "These orders are wrong and you know it. But you can do the right thing. You're afraid, Cas. I was too. But together, we can still—"

Suddenly, as if she had splashed cold water over his face, Castiel snapped out of his reverie.

"Together?" he asked harshly, ripping his hand away and backing up. "I am nothing like you. You fell." He glared at her. "Go."

"Cas…" Anna said, taking a step toward him, but stopped when she saw the look on his face.

"Go," he said, his voice deathly quiet, and she did.

Alastair continued to scream.

* * *

The devil's trap broke, and an angel and a demon battled over the broken body of one Dean Winchester.

Alastair won.

Castiel could feel his spirit slipping out of his vessel as the demon gripped his throat and muttered a vile, satanic exorcism. He opened his mouth, blue light dripping out, feeling himself be ripped away. The pain was immense.

Then it was over, and a familiar soothing presence was bending over him, gentle hands combing through his hair.

"Cas? Cas, can you hear me?"

In the background, Alastair screamed. Sam had the demon pinned to the wall and was reaching inside of him telekinetically, twisting his insides, choking him, pressing invisible spikes into his eyes and throat. Dean was on the floor, coughing up blood and holding onto consciousness by a thread. Uriel was tellingly missing.

Castiel wasn't aware of any of this. In his dazed state his entire vast perception narrowed down to her soft scent, of oranges and shampoo and the living, warm smell of her skin. He wanted to breathe her in, to wrap himself up in her and never let go.

"Cas! Are you still in there?" the voice said, a little sharper, and he jerked out of his reverie. Eli was staring at him in worry, her face finally relaxing at the sight of his eyes. "Oh, thank God," she murmured. "I thought we had lost you."

He marveled at the relief in her voice. "I am fine," he said in a sore and very low voice, allowing her to help him up.

"It's not us!" Alastair was howling, thrashing weakly against unseen bonds. "We're not doing it!"

"I don't believe you," Sam hissed, twisting his hand in midair. Alastair screamed.

"Lilith is not behind this," he gasped out, and began to chuckle insanely, his eyes rolling back in his head. "She wouldn't kill seven angels. Oh, she'd kill a hundred, a thousand!"

Sam stopped and stared at the demon, contemplating his truthfulness. Alastair smirked even as foam bubbled along the edges of his mouth. "Go ahead. Send me back, if you can."

Sam's eyes hardened. "I'm stronger than that now. Now I can kill."

He flared his fingers and Alastair screamed one last time, an eerie red light flickering behind his skull and shining through his ribs like crimson fire. Then he collapsed, dead.

Silence fell over the warehouse, a silence so final and deep it was like they could hear the snow fall gently on the metal roof. Finally Eli stepped forward, clapping her hands together.

"Right," she said. "We have to get Dean to the hospital. You guys want to help me with that or are you going to sit around gaping all day?"

* * *

After seeing Dean to the hospital, and speaking with Uriel about the situation, Castiel found himself pacing the dark streets alone, his head filled with conflicting thoughts. He was scared—no, terrified—at what was going on, all of it: the angels dying, the lack of orders from his superiors, the disobedience growing like a hungry animal inside of him… the impure thoughts that had been plaguing him ever since he took this human body. He couldn't stop noticing things, the feel of cold, the light of the sun, the smell of food. How did humans live like this, all of the time? The nonstop stimulation was driving him crazy.

Finally he stopped and lifted his head to the sky. The snow fell on his face, and even that sensation, the feathery iced softness, scared him in its intensity.

"Anna," he whispered hoarsely, almost begging. "Anna, please."

The streetlight flickered. He looked up at it, noting despite himself how the particles of snow streamed through the yellow glow like they were dancing, then turned around.

"Decided to kill me after all?" she asked, arms crossed. He blinked, snow clumping in his lashes.

"I'm alone," he rasped.

Anna took a step closer. "What do you want from me, Castiel?" Her voice was suddenly gentle. Castiel looked at his feet, embarrassed.

"I…I'm considering disobedience."

Anna nodded, pleased. "Good."

"No, it isn't!" he insisted, a bit petulantly. "For the first time, I feel..." He trailed off, trying to force his mind away from the scent of oranges and lotion and warm skin.

"It gets worse," Anna said, taking a few steps closer to him, her feet leaving no tracks in the freshly fallen snow. The wind picked up, tossing her red hair and dusting her cheekbones with snowflakes. "Choosing your own course of action is confusing, terrifying."

She put her hand on his shoulder, and he just looked at it like he had never seen one before. Her face turned cold and she snatched it away. "That's right. You're too good for my help. I'm just trash. A walking blasphemy."

"No!" Before Castiel could stop himself he caught her hand. "No one should ever call you that. No one has the right to…" He stopped abruptly, suddenly aware of who he was talking to.

Anna studied him, something akin to wonder in her eyes. "I can't believe it," she said, a smile playing on her lips. "I just can't believe it." She let out a short laugh. "Guess she wasn't as misguided as I thought."

"What are you talking about?" Castiel asked, confused. Anna merely shook her head and gently pried her hand from his.

"You'll figure it out soon enough," she said, walking away.

"Anna," he called one last time, and she stopped in her tracks. "I don't know what to do. Please tell me what to do."

She turned back to him, her face thoughtful and pitying. "Like the old days? No. I'm sorry. It's time to think for yourself."

She gave him one last smile, then vanished, leaving Castiel alone to contemplate the cold and the snow and the traitorous thoughts in his heart.

* * *

Deep in his soul, Castiel knew the truth, he just had to confirm it. He summoned Uriel.

It was easy to sense when he arrived; his aura was muddied, choked by the bitterness and smug satisfaction that seemed to hover around him like a cloud. "You called?" Uriel asked, sounding bored.

Castiel stayed where he was, crouched by the dripping faucet, his fingers tracing the air as if looking for fingerprints.

"Strange," he murmured. "Strange how a leaky pipe can undo the work of angels when we ourselves are supposed to be the agents of fate."

"Alastair was much more powerful than we had imagined," Uriel said, and even in his deep and booming voice it sounded fake, a pat response. Castiel shut off the tap with his mind and stood.

"No," he said in a quietly decisive tone. "No demon can overpower that trap. I made it myself." He turned to the other angel and squinted at him, attempting to read his soul. "We've been friends for a long time, Uriel. Fought by each other's sides, served together away from home, for what seems like forever. We're brothers, Uriel. Pay me that respect. Tell me the truth."

Uriel sighed.

"The truth is," he said, and there was something truly wicked in his tone, something dark and ugly that, for all of his angry ranting, Castiel had never heard before. "The only thing that can kill an angel..."

A sword, gleaming and silver, slid out from his sleeve and into his hand. It looked small in Uriel's giant grasp, like a toy. "...is another angel."

Castiel's suspicions were confirmed, but the knowledge only made him sick. "You," he said dully.

Uriel bared his teeth. "I'm afraid so."

Castiel already knew the answer, but he pushed on. He had to be _sure._ "And you broke the devil's trap, set Alastair on Dean."

"I did so many things, Castiel," Uriel said smugly. "Over the course of so many months. I disabled the phone connection between the Winchesters and the Abomination to make sure that they wouldn't find the witch in time to stop the raising of Samhain. And yes, I set Alastair free. He should have killed Dean and escaped, and you should have gone on happily scapegoating the demons."

"For the murders of our kin?" Castiel was trying not to let his anger get the better of him, but he could feel his human form betraying his emotions, his eyes narrowing into slits, his hands trembling with the still-unique sensation of adrenaline pumping into his bloodstream.

Uriel shook his head. "Not murders, Castiel. No. My work is conversion. How long have we waited here? How long have we played this game by rules that make no sense?"

"It is our Father's world, Uriel," Castiel said evenly. Uriel laughed without humor.

"Our father? He stopped being that, if he ever was, the moment He created them. Humanity," he snarled with disgust. "His favorites. This whining, puking larva." He took a step toward Castiel. "But you know what really broke me? When, after forcing us to purge our half-brothers and sisters in the bloodiest way possible, and indoctrinating us as to their monstrosity, He decides to save one little girl, at the expense of the _world_ , just because her father is His favorite. Just because he _asked nicely_."

"What are you saying?" Castiel asked warily.

"Oh, right," Uriel said with a cruel laugh. "That's above your level, isn't it? Didn't you ever question why we went through so much trouble to bind the little freak's powers? Why Azazel tried to put a heaven-forged collar around her neck?" He stared at Castiel with something close to pity. "You poor bastard. You don't know anything, do you?"

"Tell me," Castiel said, stepping forward, his voice like gravel. Uriel spread his hands.

"Join me, and I will."

"Are you trying to convert me?" Castiel asked stonily.

"I want you to join me. And I still do. With you, we can be powerful enough to…" He trailed off.

"To..." Castiel pushed. Uriel looked him flush in the eye.

"To raise our brother."

"Lucifer." Castiel spat the name out like it was ash on his tongue. Uriel walked past Castiel, his eyes bright, almost feverish.

"You do remember him? How strong he was? How beautiful?" he mused with awe. "And he didn't bow to humanity. He was punished for defending us. Now, if you want to believe in something, Cas, believe in him."

Castiel tried one last time to make his brother see reason. "Lucifer is not God."

"God isn't God anymore," Uriel snarled. "He doesn't care what we do. I am proof of that."

"But this?" Castiel exclaimed, finally letting emotion creep into his voice. "What were you going to do, Uriel? Kill the whole garrison?"

Uriel's face was grim. "I only killed the ones who said no." Then, like he was replacing a mask, his face changed again, becoming pleading and hopeful and almost kind. "Others have joined me, Cas. Now, please, brother, don't fight me. Help me. Help me spread the word. Help me bring on the apocalypse. All you have to do is be unafraid."

Castiel drew himself up, feeling his strength flow through his vessel's arms and body, the heart pumping too fast to be human, his mind focused and miraculously calm.

"For the first time in a long time," he ground out, looking directly at Uriel, "I am."

Uriel smiled, relief etched on his face.

Castiel punched him through a wall.

Uriel stood, thunderous and covered with dust. He lunged at the smaller angel, tackling him to the ground. Fists cracked against Castiel's nose and cheekbones; something broke, only to be healed again in an instant, leaving only a smear of blood across his face. Castiel heaved Uriel away with all of his power and stood, only to feel the crack of metal against his head. The room started to spin. Still he fought, even as Uriel wrestled him to the floor and began to beat him senseless.

"You can't win, Uriel," Castiel gasped out, trying to find an inner reserve of strength. "I still serve God."

Uriel punched him, hard; Castiel felt an odd, irony taste fill his mouth. "You haven't even met the man." Uriel sounded like a wounded, enraged animal as his fists came down on his brother, the blows too hard and too fast to heal. For the first time Castiel felt real pain as his vessel's teeth shattered and his nose broke, blood sliding down the back of his throat and nearly choking him. "There is no will. No wrath. No God."

He raised his fist one last time and Castiel flinched. Something akin to regret welled up within him, regret that he hadn't truly seen this beautiful human world, or done all of the work that he was meant to do. Regret that he would never find out if her cornsilk hair was as soft as it looked, if her skin tasted the same as it smelled, like warmth and life.

The fist came down. Castiel closed his eyes, preparing for the worst.

There was a choking noise, and Castiel felt the heat of blood not his own spill onto his face. He opened his eyes to see Anna above him, Uriel's own sword buried deep in its owner's throat.

"Maybe," Anna hissed, the ends of her red hair coated in blood. "Or maybe not. But there's still me."

She pulled the sword out and stood as Castiel scrambled out from under him. Uriel began to writhe on the floor, screaming, blinding white light bursting from his eyes and mouth. For a brief moment, the whole building was engulfed in it. Then, like a switch flicking off, it went dead, the only mark of its passing the wings seared into the ground around Uriel's empty vessel.

* * *

Eli was standing on a bridge, contemplating the dark and icy water, when he appeared. She didn't even have to turn around; she could sense him as he silently walked up behind her.

"Hello, Eli," he said, putting his hands on the guardrail and peering into the river.

Eli sniffed a little from the cold. "Hey, Cas. Where have you been?"

He was quiet for a moment. "I…went to the hospital to speak with Dean."

"Ah," she said, carefully not looking at him. He was warm, as always; even standing next to her she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, warm enough to melt snow. "How is he?"

"He will be fine…physically," Castiel said in a soft, regretful voice. Eli turned to him, studying his profile in the dim light of the street lamps.

"It's not your fault, Cas," she said quietly, placing a cold hand on top of his warm one. "You had no idea that the devil's trap would break. You couldn't have prevented it."

He stared at the hand on top of his with an unreadable expression. "Couldn't I?" he murmured. Then: "Uriel is dead."

"What?" Eli asked, instinctively pulling her hand away, but he put his other hand on top of hers, effectively trapping it. "What happened?"

"He was a traitor," Castiel rasped. "He was the one who broke the devil's trap. He wanted to free Lucifer."

"Oh, God," she said, stepping closer to his heat, her hand still clasped between his. "Cas, I'm…I'm so sorry. I know that he was your brother."

"Perhaps. Perhaps I only thought he was." He fell silent for a moment, apparently deep in thought. "He almost killed me tonight. And this, all of this, Eli, everything that has happened, it has made me…doubt. My purpose. My orders. I feel very … lost."

"Cas," she murmured. He turned to look at her, his blue eyes dimmed to black in the darkness, his hair tousled and messy.

He took a step closer, pulling her into him, moving his hands from hers and placing them on either side of her face. She held her breath as he traced her skin with his fingers, running his thumb along her mouth as if captivated, as if he had never felt such a thing before.

"Cas," she finally breathed. "What are you doing?"

He tilted his head to hers, his breath hot on her face. "Considering disobedience," he murmured, before gently leaning in and covering her mouth with his.

His lips were soft, and feather light, but after a moment he hesitated, unsure of what to do. Eli responded by grabbing the lapels of his trench coat and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. His mouth moved against hers sweetly, his hands still cupping her face, and Eli felt truly and blissfully happy for the first time in a long time.

Around them, it began to snow.

 


	9. The Monster at the End of This Book

Carver Edlund.

Dean hadn't even heard the name until that morning, and now he hated the man with every fiber of his being, and then some.

"This is freakin' insane," Dean grumbled from the bed, throwing a book down only to pick it back up again, his fingers skimming through the pages. He had been reading all morning and he _still_ couldn't wrap his head around the fact that some guy out there was writing books about their lives. Books that other people read. _Books about him having sex that other people read._ "How's this guy know all this stuff?"

"You got me," Sam said, studying his laptop.

"Everything is in here," Dean continued to grouse, sitting up to toss the book onto the messy pile in the middle of the bed. "I mean _everything_. From the racist truck to me having sex. I'm full-frontal in here, dude."

Eli suddenly began giggling hysterically. Dean glowered at her.

"Something funny, anime girl?'"

She glanced at him from where she was sprawled on the couch with a lopsided grin that showed too many teeth. She was still wearing the ridiculous getup she had put on for the initial trip to the comic-book store: a pink, slightly low-cut Hello Kitty sweater, orange Chucks, and blue ribbons in her high buns. Her fake square-cut glasses now lay on the floor next to her, but when on she painted quite the picture of a nerd's wet dream.

" _You have your methods, I have mine,"_ she had simply when Dean asked about her wardrobe. He had wanted to laugh at the time, but it had worked. It had _really_ worked. Getting answers from the Star Wars t-shirt-wearing man-child behind the cash register had been almost too easy with her leaning innocently over the counter and putting on a perfect, pouting, _I'm so enthralled by what you're saying_ face. It was a little disturbing, how easily she could wind people around her finger when she really wanted to.

Now the polish was gone, and Eli was back to her old self—rough around the edges with the mentality of a dirty-minded five-year-old. She snorted, kicking her feet into the air and holding the book above her head. "This is enthralling. I mean, really great stuff. Listen to this." She cleared her throat and began to read. " _Dean allowed himself to be roughly pushed to the bed, her fingernails running across his bare chest, the devilish smile on her face like a cat playing with its food…"_ She trailed off, laughing hysterically. Dean stood and snatched the book from her hands.

"All right, that's enough reading for you."

"No, no wait, it gets better," Eli gasped, grabbing his pant leg. "Then, she asks you to call her 'Mistress,' and you…"

"That's enough!" He jerked his pants out of her grasp and walked over to Sam, tossing the book on the bed before he did so. "How come we haven't heard of them before?" he asked, leaning over Sam's shoulder. Behind him, Eli was still in the throes of mirth, barely able to breathe.

"They're pretty obscure," Sam said, typing quickly. "I mean, almost zero circulation. It started in '05. The publisher put out a couple dozen before going bankrupt. And the last one –" He spun his laptop to the side so that Dean could read the list of books on the page—" _No Rest For The Wicked_ , ends with you going to hell."

"I reiterate: Fucking insane." He clicked a link on the web page, his face relaxing a little. "Check it out. There's actually fans. There's not many of them, but still. Did you read this?"

"Yeah…" Sam said, a little nervously.

Dean scrolled through the information, grumbling over how the much the fans complained. Then he paused, a grin lighting up his face. "Hey, check it out! There are 'Sam girls' and 'Dean girls' and …" He trailed off, his brow wrinkling in confusion. "What's a 'slash' fan?"

Behind them, Eli's laughter reached new levels. The brothers turned to her, Dean with an eyebrow quirked, Sam with a despairing look on his face. She held up a finger, trying to slow her breathing.

"I know… what slash… means," she managed to get out.

"Yeah, you would, nerd," Dean said. "What does it mean?"

"It means…" She couldn't get the words out. "It means…you…and…." She collapsed in laughter again, holding her sides. "Oh, god, it hurts," she giggled. "Can't breathe…."

Dean turned to Sam. "What does it mean?"

"Slash…" Sam started hesitantly. "As in… Sam-Slash-Dean. Together."

"Like, together together?" Dean asked, horrified. Sam nodded grimly.

"Yeah."

Behind them, Eli let up another howl of laughter.

"They do know we're brothers, right?" Dean asked, trying to ignore her. Sam shrugged.

"Doesn't seem to matter."

"Oh, come on," Dean said with disgust in his voice, his face puckered up as if he had swallowed something sour. "That's just sick." He spun around, glaring at the other side of the motel room. "And will you shut up already!"

Eli fell off the couch.

Dean turned back to the computer, his mouth set in a harsh line. "We got to find this Carver Edlund."

"That might not be so easy," Sam said apologetically. His fingers flew over the keyboard, bringing up minimized windows and tabs, long lists of names and numbers in type so small Dean could barely read it. "He has no tax records, no known address. Looks like 'Carver Edlund' is a pen name."

Dean cracked his knuckles, just aching to punch someone in the face. Or gank something. Preferably the author. "Somebody's gotta know who he is."

Eli's phone rang. She picked it up quickly, as if she had been waiting for a call, took a moment to steady her breathing, and then asked in a mostly composed voice: "Hello?"

She paused for a moment as someone spoke on the other end, then nodded. "Okay, okay, I understand. Be there soon. Bye." She snapped the phone shut.

"What was that all about?" Sam asked, staring at her. "You never get phone calls."

"Business thing," she said, standing and pulling her leather jacket over the pink sweater. "Very important. Gotta go. Call me if you get any leads on Carver Edlund, okay? I'm looking forward to meeting the man who has brought me so much happiness."

She beamed at them before running out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Dean narrowed his eyes, turning back to Sam.

"She's lucky she's cute. That girl keeps getting weirder and weirder."

* * *

Eli left the room and went directly to where he had told her to go: a scraggly copse of trees that lined a lonely road about five blocks away. She entered the small forest tentatively, jumping over thick patches of undergrowth and avoiding poison ivy. The sun streamed chill through the mostly-bare branches, a weak, watery light that bleached everything into a flat winter grey.

Suddenly a hand touched her on the arm. "Elijah."

Eli spun around. "Cas," she said, breathing deeply. "You startled me."

"My apologies," he said, tilting his head and staring hard at her with those wide-set blue eyes. She looked around at the spindly trees and brown grass, the air around them quiet and desolate. In the distance, a bird cried.

"Why did you want to meet here?" she asked, turning to face him. He was still staring at her with that inscrutable look on his face.

"I needed someplace close to your location that would be… unobserved," Castiel said, shifting on his feet and finally looking away, his shoulders tense. "I am supposed to stay near the Winchesters and could not risk simply…taking you somewhere."

"I see," she said, stepping closer to him and putting a hand flat on his chest. His shoulders immediately eased as he looked down at her with unmistakable fondness in his eyes. His hard mouth softened in something close to a smile. Tentatively he reached out, tracing her jawline with his thumb.

"You are dressed…oddly, today," he said, his hand moving up to touch the blue ribbons still in her buns. She flushed.

"I was working a case with Sam and Dean. I, ah, forgot to change."

He pulled a ribbon from her hair, feeling the softness of it between his fingers. "That is all right," he said. "It makes you look… innocent."

"Well that's something I don't usually he…" she started to joke, but was cut off when his mouth found hers. He pressed into her, harder this time, more sure of himself; she wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers in his hair, and opened her mouth, deepening the kiss.

Finally Castiel pulled away. "This is wrong," he rasped, as if it was difficult to say. Eli stepped back, her face flushed. She tugged at her shirt, looking anywhere but at him.

"Yeah, I … I guess it is."

He looked at her with huge, oddly pained eyes. "Do you wish to stop?"

She shook her head fiercely. "No. God no. Do… do you?"

As an answer he reached for her again.

* * *

Castiel knew, absolutely and unequivocally, that what he was doing was very, very wrong.

It wasn't that he didn't care. He cared. He felt eaten up by guilt and paranoia all of the time, especially around the other angels. He was terrified that one of them would look into his eyes and see the truth. Every time he was alone he vowed that he would not go back to her, that he would find a way to resume his detached contemplations and focus only on the job at hand. But then he would see her, and all of that horrible weight would melt off of his shoulders, and he would realize, with a pang of selfishness and weakness, that he couldn't stop. He could drag them both down into damnation, but God help him, he couldn't stop.

It was like he had been living in a cocoon for all of his long life, numbed to feeling and sensation, a perfect, emotionless soldier. Even inside of this body, even with his fondness for the Winchester brothers, everything was muffled, false, sterile. But touching her, the feeling that she woke within him, was so forcefully _real_ that it was almost too much to stand, pleasure to the point of pain. Ever since that kiss on the bridge she had invaded his thoughts; he felt like his body was on fire, like she was a drug that heightened every sensation into near unbearable clarity.

Her phone rang, vibrating irritatingly in her pocket, and she tried to step away. He pulled her tighter.

"Ignore it," he growled against her lips. She rested her forehead on his and looked into his eyes, green meeting blue.

"I can't," she said regretfully as it continued to buzz. "It's gotta be Sam and Dean with a lead."

Slowly she untangled herself from his grasp and fished the phone out of her pocket, turning her back on him as she spoke. "Yeah, hello?"

Castiel wrapped his arms around her from behind, his fingers splayed out against her midsection. He nuzzled his nose to her neck, breathing in her scent. He had never done anything like this before – never even touched a woman unless it was to save her – and he didn't really know what he was doing, but he knew that being in her presence without touching her had become an almost physical pain. It scared him, how he couldn't seem to stop, how very badly he wanted to taste her, to glut his newly-sharpened senses on her skin.

"Mmhmmm," Eli said, trying very hard to concentrate on the conversation as Castiel pressed soft, almost invisible butterfly kisses along her jaw. "Yeah…okay." She bit her lip to stop from letting out a moan as his teeth lightly grazed the place where her neck met her shoulder. "What? No, I'm … I'm fine. Nothing's wrong. Where are you going? Okay, I'll be there soon. Okay, bye."

She hung up her phone with a sigh. "I have to go," she murmured, turning into him. "They found a lead on the case."

He pulled away from her, trying to mold his face back into something impassive. "Of course, you must perform your duties. I must go as well, before they realize that something is amiss."

"I'll see you soon?" she asked, brushing the dark hair from his eyes.

"I cannot stay away," he answered truthfully. He dipped his head, giving her one last sweet kiss, and then she was left holding nothing but air.

* * *

Chuck Shurley stared at the arsenal in the trunk of the Impala, at the salt and the holy water and the devil´s trap carved into the underside of the hood. "Well, I got to hand it to you guys," he stuttered, sweat shining on his forehead. "You really are my number one fans." He started to back away, nearly tripping on his old bathrobe. "That's… that's awesome. So, I-I think I've got some posters in the house."

"Chuck, stop," Dean said forcefully, walking in front of the author and cutting him off. Chuck began to wring his hands, looking with terrified eyes at the two larger men blocking the path.

"Please wait," he pleaded. "Please, don't hurt me."

Sam shifted impatiently, running a hand through his hair. "How much do you know?" he asked, frustrated. "Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?"

Chuck paused, confused. "Wait a minute. How do you know about that?"

"The question is," Dean said darkly, "how do you know?"

"Uh, because I wrote it?" Chuck said, trying his best to smile. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to run into the house and bury himself back in the comfortable world of fiction and booze.

"You kept writing?" Sam asked, incredulous.

Chuck bobbed his head up and down nervously. "Yeah, even after the publisher went bankrupt, but those books never came out." He paused, grasping at some kind of logic or hope. "Okay, wait a minute. This is some kind of joke, right? Did that - did Phil put you up to this?"

Dean sighed, shot Sam a long-suffering look and turned back to Chuck, pulling himself up to his full height.

"Well, nice to meet you. I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam."

Chuck's bearded face paled. "The last names were never in the books," he said slowly. "I never told anyone about that. I never even wrote that down." His eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute, this isn't right. If you're talking about Lilith and the seals, and if you're my characters, shouldn't you also be with…"

"Yo, Sex Bomb!" Eli yelled from down the street, jogging up to them. She had changed back into her old cargo pants and military boots, a dark grey turtleneck under her bomber jacket, her blonde hair in a French braid. She jogged towards them, doing a little disco dance for Dean and thrusting her hips. Sam struggled to keep the smile off of his face as Dean groaned and hung his head in his hands.

"I'm never gonna get over this," he groaned, then shot an ugly look at Chuck. "Was it really necessary that you write horrifically detailed sex acts in your stupid books?"

Chuck ignored him, staring opened-mouthed at Eli. "I can't believe it," he mumbled. "It's not possible."

Eli reached them, a smile on her face. "Hello, young lovers," she greeted the Winchesters before turning to Chuck. "Hey, you must be the author. I'm Eli Grant."

His face when even whiter, until it was positively bloodless. "Not possible," he muttered, tucking his head into his chest and scurrying away. Eli looked at the brothers blankly.

"Was it something I said?"

They followed Chuck into the house. He was pouring himself a large whiskey, gulping it down with alarming speed, two dots of color appearing high on his pallid cheeks. He put the glass on the kitchen counter, took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned back around.

"Oh," he groaned, pressing a palm to his forehead. "You're still here."

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, taking in the filthy apartment with interest. "Yup."

"You're not a hallucination," Chuck clarified. Dean gave a humorless chuckle.

"Nope."

Chuck sighed, then turned back around and poured himself another glass of whiskey. "Then, there's only one explanation," he announced morosely, but with a bit of pride. "Obviously I'm a god."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're not a god."

Chuck faced him, the amber liquid in his glass sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "How else do you explain it?" he demanded. "I write things and then they come to life. Yeah, no, I'm definitely a god." He hung his head, ashamed of his actions. "A cruel, cruel, capricious god. The things I put you through - the physical beatings alone."

Dean shrugged, leaning against the wall. "Yeah, we're still in one piece."

Chuck continued like he didn't hear him. He put his drink down on the counter, looking horrified, and ran his hands through his already messy hair as if he wanted to pull it out. "I killed your father," he wailed guilty. "I burned your mother alive." He turned on Sam. "And then you had to go through the whole horrific ordeal again with Jessica."

"Chuck…" Sam began, but he plowed on, moving now to Eli.

"And you!" he gasped, looking close to tears. "I mean, you can't be real! You were never even in the published books! The plucky Nephilim with the big secret and the heavenly mission? That's crazy! I only wrote you in later because I thought the series needed more female characters. Hell, I even created the way that you look because I thought it would be cute, to pull some fans away from the whole slash fiction thing. You know." He gestured to her weakly. "Like my series' own Buffy. And then there's the whole thing with the angel…" He trailed off at Eli's furious look.

"Well, I'm real," she bit out.

"Oh God," he groaned, closing his eyes and then opening them again to stare apologetically at her. "I am so, so sorry. I put you through so much shit. I had your angelic father rape your mother, and the yellow-eyed-demon possess your dad, and brought the wrath of heaven down on you for no reason at all! All for what?" He looked at the three of them frantically. "I toyed with your lives, your emotions, for... entertainment!"

Dean strode up to him, holding his hands out to accentuate his point. "You didn't toy with us, Chuck, okay?" he snapped. "You didn't create us."

Chuck looked at him like a wounded puppy. "Did you really have to live through the bugs?"

"Yeah," Dean said, exasperated.

"What about the ghost ship?"

"Yes, that too." His voice was starting to sound strained.

"I am so sorry," Chuck apologized again, taking a big swig of whiskey. "I mean, horror is one thing, but to be forced to live bad writing... if I would have known it was real, I would have done another past."

"Chuck, you're not a god!" Dean yelled. Sam shot him a look.

"We think you're probably just psychic," he said patiently, like he was part of a good-cop-bad-cop routine.

Chuck shook his head fiercely and took another drink. "No. No way. If I were psychic, you think I'd be writing?" His voice became a dull whine. "Writing is hard."

Sam looked uncomfortable, like he wasn't sure if he should comfort Chuck or not. "It seems that somehow, you're just... focused on our lives," he said finally.

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, like laser-focused." He paused, his eyes scanning the papers that lay scattered across the messy room. "Are you working on anything right now?"

* * *

Later, after they had heard about Sam's impending "throes of fiery demonic passion" with Lilith, Sam and Dean went off to try and change the day's destiny. Eli stayed with Chuck, supposedly to protect him. In reality she didn't want to deal with the brothers' latest emotional crisis, and she also had some personal questions of her own for the author.

"You like Guinness, right?"

Eli looked up from her spot on the comfy chair, where she was rifling through his latest manuscript. He was hovering over her nervously, a bottle in his hand. "I mean, that's what I wrote you as liking," he said, shrugging.

Eli accepted it. "Yeah, thanks," she said, putting it to her lips. He sat down on the couch, watching as she thumbed through the pages, clearly looking for something.

"I didn't give them anything incriminating," he said, and Eli's head jerked up.

"What?" she asked, placing the stack of papers on the coffee table. He leaned forward, a glass of whiskey in his hands.

"You know, the stuff I wrote about you…and the angel. I didn't give it to them."

"Oh." Eli felt heat rising to her face. "Ah, thanks." She sighed, leaning back in the chair and taking a long drink. After a moment she looked at him from the corner of her eye. "So you know about that, huh?" she asked. He nodded, staring into his glass.

"Yeah. Felt it coming for a long time. I mean, at first I thought if I added a female character she would hook up with one of the brothers, maybe both, cause some soap-opera friction, you know? But it never happened…guess I know why, now. Wasn't really my call to make."

"Mm," she said softly. "Hey, can I ask you something?" He looked at her, his bearded face exhausted. Something was crusted in his beard, deep shadows ringed his eyes, and he smelled like whisky and the must of old bed sheets. He looked like he would drop the ground at any minute. "You have an insight no one else seems to have here. What do you think about…you know…"

"You and Castiel?" he asked, shaking his head. "It's a bad idea, Eli. I haven't seen that far yet, but I'm afraid that it won't end well for you two."

Something twisted low in her gut. Chuck saw her look and sighed, straightening up and putting his glass on the low table. He turned to her, his face serious.

"It's nothing against you, you know, or him. You just…you gotta understand how these guys work. They're not like you and me. Why do you think heaven's so strict on angels being emotionless soldiers?" He leaned forward as if imparting a great secret. "They're born of fire, which means that they feel things much more than mere mortals do. But they're taught to stay away, to keep their hands clean, to be totally… numb. Thousands of years of near-nothingness in the emotions department. Then you give them one taste of human desire, and bam! It's like an all-you-can-eat buffet and they are very, very hungry. They don't know how to deal with all the new sensations. They can't stop themselves. It ruins them. I mean, that's why Anna ripped out her grace."

"So you're saying that, secretly, all angels are sex-starved maniacs?"

"Well, I wouldn't phrase it exactly like that, but…"

"Oh," Eli said lamely, sitting back. She tried to process everything that she had just heard. "So, ah, you think he's with me because…I don't know… like, a bed warmer?" She felt incredibly awkward saying it, especially since they had only stolen a few kisses in the past few weeks.

"No, oh no," Chuck said, shaking his head solemnly. "He feels for you. I mean, really feels, for the first time, well, ever. He even disobeyed. And it's because of you. Don't doubt that because of his…ah, enthusiasm. I'm just saying…" He sighed and picked his glass off the table, swirling the contents morosely. "Just don't expect this to end well."

* * *

Eli stayed at Chuck's, reading through piles of manuscripts, trying to decipher the clues she found in them. She discovered the story ("more of a flashback, really," Chuck had said) of her meeting with Azazel. She found snippets of conversations between Castiel and Uriel that mentioned the collar. She pocketed embarrassing exchanges between her and Castiel that she never wanted the brothers to get their hands on. She even found a poorly bound book, covered in coffee stains _,_ of scenes of her hunting life, some with the boys, some before, all out of order and severely marked up with a red pen _._

At some point, Eli fell asleep on the couch. At another, Chuck left to get food and booze. And another found Dean hovering over her shoulder, his lips at her ear.

"Boo," he whispered, and she shrieked. Papers flew everywhere; her beer rolled to the ground, spilling brown liquid all over the already stained carpet.

"You jackass!" she exclaimed to his smug face. "That's not funny!"

"Oh, so now you're not laughing," he said. Eli wanted to punch him, but realized that he already looked pretty beat up.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"Getting hit by a minivan while trying to break this destiny crap," he said, sinking down on a chair. "Not going well. You find anything?"

"Any clues?" she asked. "Nope. Just what we already lived. He does have a rather…florid way of writing it all though. Oh, and by the way, thanks."

Dean blinked, nonplussed. "For what?"

She winked at him. "For thinking my ass is cute."

The rattling of keys at the door told them that Chuck was back. A minute later he walked in, a grocery bag piled high with glass bottles in his arms. He seemed unsurprised to see Dean sitting there.

"Dean," he said, bobbing his head nervously. Dean stood up, suddenly a lot more threatening.

"I take it you knew I'd be here," he growled. Chuck put the grocery bag down on the ground and walked forward tentatively.

"You look terrible," he said, examining Dean's face in the light.

"That's 'cause I just got hit by a minivan, Chuck," he said stiffly, as if trying not to start throwing punches. Chuck's face paled.

"Oh."

Dean exploded. "That it?" he yelled. "Every damn thing you write about me comes true, and all you have to say to me is _oh_?"

Eli watched the back-and-forth with interest. She knew that Dean wasn't really going to hurt the little guy, but she wanted to see what fear would do, if he really would reveal any more information when scared.

When Dean slammed him into the wall, Eli finally stood.

"How the hell are you doing this?" Dean yelled in Chuck's face. Eli moved forward to intervene.

"Dean, let him go!" she exclaimed at the exact same time that another, deeper voice said the same thing. Dean dropped Chuck in confusion, staring back and forth between Eli and the newly-appeared Castiel.

"This man is to be protected," Castiel explained, shooting a furtive glance at Eli as if unable to help himself. She felt a flush rise to her cheeks and turned away, walking to the table and picking up her fallen beer from the ground.

Dean was oblivious to the undertones of the exchange. "Why?" he demanded. Castiel looked at him again.

"He is a prophet of the Lord."

Chuck peeked out from behind Dean's larger frame, his eyes huge.

"You... you're Castiel... aren't you?" he stammered, then darted a glance to Eli. Eli nearly groaned. Now even Chuck was blushing.

"It's an honor to meet you, Chuck," Castiel said stiffly, picking up a book and thumbing through it. "I... admire your work."

Dean held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, what? This guy, a prophet? Come on, he's - he's... he's practically a Penthouse forum writer."

Eli nearly choked in her beer.

Dean swung on Chuck. "Did you know about this?" he demanded.

Chuck stumbled over to the armchair, pouring himself more whiskey along the way. "I, uh, I might have dreamt about it."

"And you didn't tell us?" Dean exclaimed.

Why they were arguing Castiel sidled up to Eli, book still in his hand. "This prophet," he said quietly. "Does he know…" Eli merely looked at him and nodded to his unasked question. His face didn't change, but his eyes became fractionally wider.

"Yo, wondertwins," Dean snapped. "Mind if I steal Cas for a minute?"

The two men moved to the side of the room, speaking in hushed voices. Eli walked over to where Chuck was sitting and deftly plucked the whiskey from his fingertips. "I think that's enough of that for you," she said, placing it on the bookshelf and perching on the edge of his chair.

"I knew you would do that," he grumbled, standing and walking decisively up the stairs. Eli slid into his unoccupied seat, listening to the rest of the conversation with interest.

Finally Dean asked the big question. "How do we get around this?"

Castiel looked vaguely confused, his brows drawing inward over his eyes. "Around what?"

"The Sam-Lilith love connection," Dean hissed. "How do we stop it from happening?"

Castiel was like a rock. Eli was amazed that he could still stand there so coolly, the good little soldier, when a few hours ago he had been kissing her senseless. "What the prophet has written can't be unwritten," he said in his gravel tones. "As he has seen it, so it shall come to pass."

"Well, you're no help," Dean snapped, pushing past the angel and marching to the door. Eli stood, halfway following him.

"Dean, where are you going?" she called.

"To get Sam!" he yelled without looking back. "Look, you just …stay here. I really don't need any interference on this one." He slammed the door.

There was a long moment of silence. From upstairs, Eli could hear Chuck's drunken snores. She turned. Castiel was still standing there in his trench coat, staring at her with eyes that seemed too blue to be real.

* * *

"Well, I feel stupid doing this," Dean exclaimed to thin air several hours later, standing by a soda machine outside of the RE D motel. "But I am fresh out of options. So please. I need some help." He paused, waiting for an answer from the darkness. "I'm praying, okay? Come on. Please."

"Prayer is a sign of faith." Castiel's familiar voice was not exactly what Dean had been hoping to hear. "This is a good thing, Dean."

Dean turned to face him. "Woah, Cas, what happened to you?"

The angel's signature trench coat was missing, his shirt wrinkled, tie mostly undone, and hair unusually mussed. He looked around awkwardly, tried to put his hands in his coat pockets, realized he wasn't wearing the coat, then settled for folding his hands in front of him. "It is not of any import. Why were you praying, Dean?"

Dean decided to ignore the angel's erratic behavior. "I want you to help me."

Castiel walked closer to him, his face pensive. "I'm not sure what I can do." He straightened his tie as if he had never done it before.

"Drag Sam out of here - now. Before Lilith shows up."

"It's a prophecy. I can't interfere." He paused, looking meditatively up at the sky. "But let me at least tell you why."

* * *

Later that night, Eli found herself standing with Chuck and Dean outside of the motel room where Sam and Lilith were. "You sure this is gonna work?" she hissed. Dean shot her a look.

"Cas said that there would hell to pay if anything evil tries to come near Chuck, so I say it's too late to turn back now!" He grabbed Chuck's arm, opened the door with a kick, and forcefully propelled the smaller man into the room. "Let's go."

Lilith was on top of Sam, the Knife held high over her head. She spun around as they entered, her host deceptively beautiful and delicate, her eyes milky white. Chuck swallowed his fear and rushed forward, holding his hands up.

"I am the prophet Chuck!" he called out, and at any other time, Eli would have laughed.

Lilith got off the bed; beneath her youthful face Eli could the true monstrous visage of the demon, writhing and distorted. "You've got to be joking," she snorted, sauntering forward, her fingers with their sharp nails curling, her voice hoarse with the desire to stick her pretty hand deep into someone's chest.

The walls began to tremble, beams cracking and groaning, dust raining down on their heads.

"This is no joke," Dean called. White light began to pour through the walls, filling the room with a strange ringing. Eli looked around; no one else seemed to notice the noise. The sound became worse, as did the light. Eli stumbled, putting her hands over her ears. She couldn't breathe. The presence was enormous, filling her head and shaking her down to her very molecules. Something about the feeling was familiar, the sensation of compression and expansion, like she was about to burst apart and go flying into the walls.

"See, Chuck here's got an Archangel on his shoulder," Dean was yelling, oblivious to what was happening behind him. "So you've got about ten seconds before this room is full of wrath and you're a piece of charcoal. You sure you want to tangle with that?"

Chuck glanced over and noticed Eli kneeling on the ground. "Eli!" he cried, crouching by her. She looked at him and then, feeling something strange, almost feathery travel down her arms, held out her hand.

The tips of her fingers were disintegrating, turning into fine dust and vanishing into the air. Chuck's eyes widened.

"I never wrote this!" he cried over the sound of the Archangel.

There was a long moment where Eli and Chuck just stared at her rapidly-vanishing fingertips. It didn't hurt; it didn't even feel _real_. All she felt were the pins and needles after a limb fell asleep, traveling steadily down her skin as more and more of her broke apart and went spiraling into the wind. She didn't even feel afraid, she just felt…

Free.

Lilith opened her mouth and poured out of her host's body. The white light and shaking faded. Eli could breathe again, her head spinning, gravity like a dull weight in her chest. She looked at Chuck, then at her hand. It was normal.

"What the hell is happening to me?" she whispered. Chuck shook his head, helping her to her feet.

"I'll tell you when I know."


	10. (Dummy With) The Rapture

It happened shortly after the Winchesters, already emotionally beaten and scarred, lost the brother they never knew they had to a ghoul. Eli had decided to give them some space, even staying in a separate room so that the brothers could hash out their issues in peace.

She was sound asleep when a knock sounded at her door.

She rolled over, confused. "Whaizzit? Whatsgoinon?"

"Eli," a voice hissed on the other side. "Get your ass out of bed!"

"Dean?" she asked blearily, stumbling in the darkness to unlock the door. She opened it, feeling a chill breeze raise the fine hair on her arms. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"I got a message from Cas," he said shortly, crossing his arms and looking around as if paranoid. Eli was instantly awake. The angel had been conspicuously absent the past few weeks, and she found that she missed him with an ache that almost tangible. "He's got something big to tell us. We're going to meet him now. You in?"

"Of course," Eli said. "Give me three minutes."

"You have two," Dean said. "Meet us at the car." He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and walked away.

Eli pulled her uncombed hair into a messy knot at the back of her neck and jammed a hat on her head. She threw on pants and shoved her feet into her boots without lacing them up. Her leather jacket went on over the huge, ragged t-shirt she slept in. She grabbed the duffel bag with her guns and was out the door.

The building at the address Dean had was a mess, the dimly lit corridors lined with twisted metal and smashed bulbs. Inside the large room, steam rose from broken pipes, and the electrical lines were still sparking.

"What the hell..." Dean muttered, looking around the room.

"Looks like a bomb went off," Sam said.

"There was a fight here," Dean pointed out, a little redundantly, stepping over wreckage. Eli hugged her arms to her chest.

"Yeah, but between who?" she whispered, a knot of fear building in her stomach.

She wandered away from the brothers as they investigated an angel-repelling sigil found on a wall. She felt a shiver of fear. What had happened to Cas? The whole place felt so strange, charged with old, powerful magic. Dangerous magic.

Something moved in the wreckage.

"Guys! Here!" she yelled, nearly twisting her ankle as she bounded across fallen beams. She reached the body first, gently turning it over with her hands. "Oh my God, Cas. Cas!" His eyes were closed, faint stubble on his jaw and a thin gash along the side of his cheek. He looked strangely fragile.

Then he opened his eyes and looked at her, and Eli knew something was horribly wrong.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean asked, crouching by his side. Eli shook her head, grabbing Dean's leather-clad shoulder and jerking him back.

"Dean, that's not Cas," she said frantically.

"What?" he asked, staring at the dazed man. "What are you talking about?"

"His light, it's gone," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "That's an empty vessel. There is no angel inside of that body."

The man moaned. "What's going on?" Sam helped him sit up; he lifted his hands, staring at them unsteadily. "I'm…I'm me?"

"Who's 'me'?" Sam asked. The man looked up.

"Jimmy," he said carefully, as if he really had to think about it. His voice was lighter than Castiel's, more clear and innocent, almost like a boy's. "My name's Jimmy."

"Where the hell is Castiel?" Dean snapped. Jimmy looked confused for a moment, then shrugged.

"He's gone."

* * *

Jimmy ran back home before Eli got a chance to really speak with him, leaving her to ponder Castiel's disappearance on the long ride to Jimmy's house. Still, nothing could have prepared her for seeing him with his family, even if at the moment his family was in life-threatening danger.

They burst into the room just in time, Dean slicing the demon's throat with the Knife and Eli leaping at the female, knocking him off of Jimmy. They struggled for a moment, but right when Eli was about to lay her hand on the demon's forehead it opened its mouth and streamed out in a cloud of black smoke.

"Come on!" Dean was yelling frantically, ushering the terrified family outside. "Go go go!"

They rushed to the car, Eli's hand on the wife's back. "Get in," she said tersely, opening the door. The wife, Amelia, climbed in first, sliding to the other side with her little girl on her lap, followed by Jimmy and finally Eli.

"Let's go!" Dean yelled as she squeezed in and slammed the door behind her. The Impala peeled away from the curb with a screech and began speeding down the road.

Time passed. Eventually Amelia and Claire fell asleep. Eli just sat there nervously, highly uncomfortable, squished between the door and the human vessel of the angel she was fooling around with, while that vessel was sitting next to his wife and daughter.

Eli felt like shit. She always knew that Castiel's appearance was merely a vessel, but she had never really stopped to think about who that vessel might be in real life. She never even stopped to think that he might have a family. He was always just Castiel, not Castiel-in-Jimmy, but now she could see how separate they really were. Jimmy looked young and fragile, his brow unfurrowed, forehead smooth, mouth almost pouting. His emotions shone so clearly through his eyes. Even the way he moved was different, more clumsy, lacking that angelic grace and power she was so used to.

Eventually the car rolled to a stop. The four of them got out, leaving Amelia and Claire asleep in the backseat.

"You were right," Jimmy said in a defeated voice, staring at the pavement.

"Sorry we were," Dean said, really meaning it. Jimmy sighed, glancing back at his wife and daughter. He turned to the hunters.

"I'm telling you, I don't know anything."

Dean's voice was pitying, almost gentle. "To demons, trivial details like that don't matter."

"I'm gonna tell you once again," Sam said, his tone ice cold. "You're putting your family in danger. You have to come with us."

"How long?" Jimmy asked, sounding broken. It was a strange sound coming from a voice that was usually so strong. "And don't give me that _we'll cross that bridge when we get to it_ crap."

"Don't you get it?" Sam snapped harshly, and there was something _different_ in his voice that caught Eli's attention. "Forever. The demons'll never stop. You can never be with your family. So you either get as far away from them as possible, or you put a bullet in your head, and that's how you keep your family safe, but there's no getting out and there's no going home."

Dean glared at him out of the corner of his eye. "Well don't sugar-coat it, Sam."

Sam glared right back. "I'm just telling him the truth, Dean. Someone has to."

Jimmy nodded, defeated, and walked over to the car to speak one last time with his wife. The three hunters stepped away to give them privacy.

Eli stared at the couple. She could feel the love and the hopelessness radiating from them, and the guilt she had been feeling all day rose up inside her again. She wondered where Castiel was. She had tried to push the thought from her mind but it kept rising up, stronger and stronger, until it was the only thing she could think about. Were they torturing him in Heaven? Was he screaming in pain right now? Or was he locked up in some kind of heavenly jail cell, being brain-washed?

Then the worst guilt of all surfaced like a churning ball of acid. Was he pulled away because they found out about their relationship? Was she the reason he was gone right now? Would she ever see him again, or would they keep him locked away forever, or assign a different angel to the case? Would she herself be punished for leading an angel astray?

The idea of never seeing him again, of never hearing that rough, gentle voice or sense the familiar light that he exuded, was almost unbearably painful.

"Eli, are listening to a word we're saying?"

Dean's voice broke her reverie and she jerked her eyes away from the family. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked if you had any input into everything that´s been happening. You've been staring into space like a fuckin' zombie all day. What is it with you?"

"Nothing," Eli said defensively, leaning against the car. "I'm just a little wigged out by the whole situation." She sniffed the air. "Hey, and there's something else. Ever since we left the house I keep getting whiffs of sulfur, and my, I don't know, it's like my Spidey-senses are tingling. I think something's been following us."

"Can you tell what it is?" Sam asked. Eli shook her head.

"I don't know. Maybe a demon?"

"All the more reason to get out of here ASAP," Dean said grimly. He walked over to the crying family and clapped his hands. "Okay, time to go. Can't stay in one place too long."

Jimmy nodded, looking like a dog who had been beaten. He kissed his daughter on her head, whispered something to her, brushed his wife's cheek with the back of his hand, and then made his way to the Impala. Eli got in first, sliding over to the far side, and watched him as he climbed in and closed the door.

They pulled away, leaving Amelia and Claire alone with the faint scent of sulfur in the air.

"Why is he leaving again?" Claire asked, watching the rapidly disappearing car. Her mom hugged her.

"To keep us safe, baby. Come on, let's go." She paused, then sniffed curiously. Claire sniffed too.

"Mommy, what's that funny smell?" she asked, a moment before a whirling cloud of black smoke appeared and poured itself screaming into Amelia's mouth.

Claire shrank away from her mother, her eyes wide with fear. "Mommy?"

The demon turned to her slowly, her eyes completely black. "Guess again."

* * *

"Look, can we just …stop?" Eli asked after about twenty minutes. She was finding it hard to breathe in the confined space of the car. "Can we just stop for a while?"

Dean looked at her in the rearview mirror. "Why?"

"Dean, please," she said, her voice weary, unwilling to fight. "Just for five minutes?"

Dean hesitated, then pulled the Impala over onto the side of the highway. Cars rushed past in the darkness. They all got out; Eli went to the trunk and pulled out beers, tossing them to everyone. Then she sat against the rear wheel, facing away from the road, staring into a copse of shadowed trees.

"Hey," said a voice. Jimmy plopped down next to her. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Go ahead," she said dully. She took a sip from her beer and then twirled the bottle around in her hands, breathing in the exhaust fume smell of the highway.

"You know, I never used to drink," he said, staring at the bottle. "Good Christian boy and all that. After this, I definitely think I'm gonna start."

Eli was silent.

"You don't have to beat yourself up about it," Jimmy said, his voice quiet. She glanced at him, staring into his own beer bottle pensively, then at Dean and Sam, who were over by the hood of the car, talking softly.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Jimmy drank deeply, squinting into the night.

"I wasn't … aware of my surroundings most of the time but I was conscious, in a manner of speaking," he said. "I don't know…details about things but I do know…" He trailed off, scratching his head awkwardly. "He cared about you."

Eli was stunned. "Oh," she managed to get out. Jimmy continued.

"I mean, at the beginning, when he first took my body, there was this great sense of purpose, of infallibility, you know? It was cold. So alien and overwhelming and … not human. And then you came along and it was like I…like I could breathe again, in there. Like with you he was letting the reins go. I was…oh, I don't know. At peace. When he was with you. Maybe it's because that's when he was at peace."

It was like some great knot inside of her chest was filling up her lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Eli's eyes began to burn. She tilted her head up at the stars, blinking hard, trying desperately to keep the tears from falling down her face. "Oh."

"I guess I just wanted to say… I liked the guy. Angel. Whatever. He had a heart. And I don't want you to feel bad or guilty about anything that you did. What you meant to him was a good thing, no matter what happens. That much I know."

Eli let out a strangled sound. "What if I…what if he never comes back?"

Jimmy shook his head, finishing his beer. "I don't know."

"Jimmy?" Sam jogged over, his cell phone in his hand. "It's your wife."

Jimmy stood up, nervously brushing dirt from his pants, before taking the phone and putting it to his ear. "Amelia?" he asked tentatively. Then his eyes grew wide. "Oh my God."

* * *

What happened at the warehouse was a disaster.

The demons grabbed Eli from the dark, wrapping her hands securely behind her back and relieving her of her guns before dragging her into the light along with Sam and Dean.

"Nice plan, jackasses," she hissed, staring at the scene in front of her: Amelia possessed by the demon, its face twisted and matted, holding the Knife; Claire tied to a chair like a ritual sacrifice; Jimmy broken and helpless between them.

"You know what's funny?" the demon asked, twirling the Knife in her hands. Dean quirked an eyebrow, trying to sound brave.

"You wearing a soccer mom?" he asked snarkily.

"I was actually bummed to get this detail, picking up an empty vessel. Sorta like a milk run. Now look who landed in my lap." She gave each of them a long hard stare. "Of course, it wasn't easy, getting to this particular soccer mom, not with 'I can see demons' girl there. Had to hide out on the underside of that rat-trap you call a car. Do you realize how difficult it is for black smoke to stay in one piece while going 90 miles an hour? Really gave me a headache."

"Yeah, well, you got us," Sam said, as calmly as he could. "Let these people go."

"How very Moses of you," Eli muttered under her breath.

"I don't think so," the demon said. "In fact, I think it's time for the punch line." She smiled widely at them. "Everybody dies."

She pointed one of the guns she had lifted from Eli at Sam, then casually spun around and shot Jimmy in the stomach.

"No!" Eli screamed, unable to contain herself. She struggled fiercely in the grip of the demon, her breath coming out faster and faster. For a moment all she could see was Cas writhing there, holding his guts in his hands, and it broke something inside of her. "Let me go you son of a bitch or I swear to God I'll…."

Light began to shine from her whole body. The demon restraining her howled, stumbling away, the flesh from his hands melting off of the bones. The other demons backed up nervously.

"Everyone do your fucking jobs!" the demon in Amelia commanded. "Waste little orphan Annie!"

A male demon rushed toward Claire. Eli spun on him, her whole body glowing like a star, but it was too late; he was already bringing a metal bar down toward the girl's head. A second later he screamed, light pouring from his eyes, and as Claire stood Eli could feel the radiance of a familiar presence. _Cas._

"Eli!" Dean shouted. "You just gonna glow or you gonna help us?"

Eli ran up to another demon and touched him, watching the light flare out of his eyes with satisfaction. She found the third and did the same, but it was starting to seriously drain her. At the other end of the room, Sam had downed one with the Knife. Eli turned, watching with revulsion as he lifted his face, dark with blood, from the chest of the dead demon.

The light coming from Eli's skin flickered and went out as she stared in horror. Sam stood and exorcised the demon inside of Amelia with his mind, the blood smeared around his lips like he was a vampire. At that moment, something in his face changed, seemed darker, more monstrous, like there was the faintest trace of a demon under his skin.

Finally it was over. The room fell silent. Castiel, in the body of Claire, approached Jimmy, who lay gasping on the floor.

Castiel knelt and touched Jimmy lightly on the cheek. "Of course we keep our promises," he said, and it was so strange, the sound of his words in the voice of an innocent little girl. "Of course you have our gratitude. You served us well. Your work is done. It's time to go home now. To your real home. You'll rest forever in the fields of the Lord."

"No," Jimmy muttered weakly. Castiel smiled, a gentle, patient look.

"Rest now, Jimmy."

Jimmy shook his head fiercely, baring bloody teeth. "No, Claire…"

Eli shoved her fist in her mouth to keep from crying audibly, but tears still rained down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking in silence. She didn't know who she was crying for: Jimmy, Claire, Castiel. Herself. It all just seemed so hopelessly _wrong._

"She's with me now," Castiel was murmuring peacefully in that child's voice. "She chose it. It's in her blood, as it was in yours."

"Please, Castiel," Jimmy gasped out, struggling to breathe. He grabbed his daughter's shirt and pulled the angel closer. "I need you to take me, take me _please_."

Dean walked up behind Eli and rubbed her shoulder; unable to help herself, she turned and buried her face in his chest, her breath coming out in hitching gasps. She felt like her loyalties were torn. She just wanted this nice man to be able to live and go back to his family, to be happy, but he wasn't, he was going to die and his little girl was going to live out her life like a skin doll, but she felt like a monster, because underneath it all she also wanted her Castiel back.

"I want to make sure you understand," Castiel was saying softly through Claire's mouth. "You won't die, or age. This last year has been painful for you; picture a hundred, a thousand more like it."

Jimmy shook his head, coughing up blood. "It doesn't matter, take me, just take me," he pleaded. Castiel sighed.

"As you wish."

Castiel reached out, cupping Jimmy's cheeks with child's hands. A light began to shine between the two of them, and as Eli turned back to the scene she could almost see Castiel move and breathe and settle into his new host. Light streamed from Jimmy's eyes and mouth, eerie but beautiful, and then it was over.

Claire slumped to the floor. Castiel blinked, and moved stiffly, as if he had forgotten how to use his limbs. He pulled himself up and stood for a moment, blinking, getting the feel of it all, then brushed past Jimmy's wife and began to walk toward the door.

"Cas, hold up," Dean called. Castiel stopped and turned, his gaze carefully blank. "What were you gonna tell me?"

His eyes narrowed. "I learned my lesson while I was away Dean," he said harshly. "I serve Heaven, I don't serve man and I certainly don't serve you."

Eli caught the edge of his trench coat sleeve with her fingers. "Cas…"

He jerked it out of her grasp. "Don't touch me!" he hissed, staring at her with eyes that were wounded and terrified and angry all at the same time. Eli shrank back, hurt and surprised, but he just turned on his heel and walked away.


	11. When The Levee Breaks

The moment they got Sam safely locked up in Bobby's panic room, Eli ran upstairs, grabbed an old book and some ingredients from one of Bobby's chests, shoved them in her duffel bag, and started for the door.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked. His skin was sallow and he looked exhausted, and scared; they all knew it was only a matter of time before Sam started screaming.

"Out," she snapped, scooping up the keys to one of Bobby's many run-down cars. "I'll be back later," she said, slamming the door behind her.

Eli climbed into the rusty truck, threw her bag onto the passenger seat and drove straight to the nearest motel. She paid in cash, gave a fake name, and locked herself in the room.

Carefully she opened her duffel bag and pulled out the book and the ingredients she had grabbed: the herbs, the old coins, the small white animal bones. She placed all the items into small square cuts of cloth, flipped open her knife, and nicked her finger, just enough to let a few drops spatter in each bag. Eli sucked on her finger for a moment, then held her palm over the table, reciting words in ancient greek from the open tome next to her. The bulbs flickered in the room; wind flared and then died. Eli let out a shaking breath. All she needed to do to finish the spell was to bind them, but instead just left them sitting on the desk half-finished.

Now for the next task. Eli closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and concentrated.

"Castiel," she called, searching in her mind for the faint glimmer she could always find. "Castiel, I know you're ignoring me." She pressed her hand to her forehead, working through the building migraine the angel-summoning was giving her. "I'm persistent, you son of a bitch," she continued. "I'm going to keep bothering you until you get your ass down here and we talk!"

"What do you want, Elijah?" a tired voice asked from behind her. She whirled around, taking in his exhausted appearance, how his coat seemed a little more wrinkled, the shadows under his eyes deeper than usual.

"To talk," she said shortly. "Are you alone?"

"Yes," he said, a bit confused.

"Good." Eli turned to the squares of cloth on the table and began to bind them with twine.

"What are you doing?" he asked, walking up behind her. She could see his reflection in the large mirror mounted to the dresser. His head was tilted down but he wasn't looking at the bags; he was looking at her, with something akin to desperation in his eyes, like he was restraining himself, but from what she didn't know.

She finished tying the last one, then moved to place them at every window and on top of the door. "They're hex bags," she explained, turning back to him. "We're officially off the grid. No one can find us, no one can spy on us. Not even angels."

Castiel looked suddenly nervous. "And why do you find this necessary?"

"Because we need to talk, damnit, and I don't want to be looking over my shoulder the whole time."

Castiel sighed, as if unable to fight anymore. He sank down onto the bed, staring at the hands in his lap as if he didn't trust himself to look her in the eyes. "And what is it that you wish to speak to me about?" he asked flatly.

"Well first of all, what happened to you?" She sat next to him and touched his hand; he pulled away as if burnt. "What did they do to you up there?"

"It is not of import," he growled, standing and walking over to the mirror. He placed his hands on the dresser and stared into his reflection as if trying to divine something from it. Eli could see herself walking up behind him and touching him lightly on the shoulder. He jerked away again. "Don't touch me," he said in a strangled voice, hanging his head.

"Did they…" Eli took a deep breath. "Cas, look at me." He didn't move. "Please." Finally he raised his head, his blue eyes tortured. "Did they take you because of … us?"

"There is no us," he snapped, pushing away and beginning to pace the room, his trench coat flapping behind him. Eli sighed, almost more annoyed at this point than heartbroken.

"Yeah, I get that, but you didn't answer my question. Do they know?"

He stopped pacing and looked at her, then slowly shook his head. "No, it was not because of… that, though I think they had suspicions that something was… amiss."

"So they know nothing?" Eli asked, breathing out a sigh of relief.

"Nothing."

"Good," she said softly, before narrowing her eyes and hardening her voice. "Then why are you being such a douchebag?"

Castiel stared at her with wide eyes, then blinked fast, swallowing, as if finding it difficult to speak. "I will not give them cause to do to you what they did to me," he finally rasped. "I cannot take that risk. I can not... lose control."

"Can't, or won't?" she asked, but he didn't answer.

Eli sighed and walked over to the dresser, leaning against it with her back to the mirror. "Look, I get it, Cas, I really do, and it must have been horrible for you, I'm sure." He looked at the ground, his dark hair a mess of cowlicks sticking up from his head like splayed fingers. "I can't even imagine," she said in a gentler voice.

"No," he said grimly. "You can't."

"But what are you going to do? Avoid me forever?"

"Perhaps not forever, but whenever possible," he said, still staring at the stained carpet. "It would not be… wise for me to be around you too often."

"Why?" she asked. "I mean, things have changed, I understand that. You're on the straight and narrow again. But I am working with the Winchesters, and the apocalypse is on the horizon, and I…" She swallowed suddenly, trying to keep tears from spilling over. "I need you in my life right now, Cas, just a little bit."

"I cannot," he said, looking at her with pained eyes.

"I don't understand," Eli said, genuinely confused and hurt and trying to be patient. "I just want to understand this. If the angels don't know anything, then can't you be to me what you always were before? A mentor? A friend? Hell, if they think you've gotten too close to me you can always tell them, I don't know, that you have like a fatherly affection for me. That would do the trick. So why do we have to avoid each other?"

It was like her words set off an electrical charge in the room, sparking a fire that he had been trying so frantically to put out. Castiel was in front of Eli in an instant, looming over her against the dresser, and there was something in his face that she had never seen before, something that frightened her. She leaned back, her spine pressing into the mirror, and raised her hands instinctively. He caught her wrists, bringing his face in close to hers.

"Because," he growled, his grip digging into her skin, "I very much do _not_ have a fatherly affection for you."

When he kissed her it was rough, bruising, almost angry, like the floodgates had opened and he couldn't control himself any longer. He pushed her onto the dresser, hard, so that her back was flush with the mirror, her legs wrapped around his waist, and gripped her hair, tipping her head back to gain deeper access to her mouth. After a moment he turned to her neck, trailing his lips and teeth against her skin.

She gasped when he bit her lightly, sucking on the place where her pulse beat wildly in her throat before moving to her collarbone and below. Her hands moved from his hair to his trench coat, shrugging it off with impatience, and then to his tie. He pulled back just long enough to remove her t-shirt; she lifted her arms and he pulled it over her head, running hot fingers along her sides, and she caught a glimpse of his eyes, wild and dark and almost alien. Then his mouth was on hers again, and she was fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, his pants, and they were falling onto the motel room bed in a pile of limbs and discarded clothes.

* * *

Afterwards they laid together, Eli's back against Castiel's chest, his arm looped warmly around her waist, his hand drawing lazy circles across her stomach. He kissed her shoulder lightly, feeling blessedly released.

"That was… pleasurable," he murmured into her ear with something akin to surprise. "I had no idea that there were so many nerve endings in the human body."

Eli let out a little laugh. "You and me both," she said, rolling over so that her head was curled on his bare chest. His heart thumped under her cheek, steady and smooth, like the ticking of a clock. His hips, so beautifully lean and narrow, locked into hers perfectly. They stayed like that for a long time, silent, wrapped up in each other's warmth. Finally, Eli lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "What are we going to do?"

He sighed, pulling away from her, his brow furrowed. "You must understand, I wish to be with you, I just…"

"Have your orders," she finished coldly, dropping her gaze. "Right."

"You must let me finish." He gently cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. "I do not know if we will be able to prevent the apocalypse. But until that day comes, I must do everything my superiors say, without hesitation, or they will cast me back into Heaven and I will never be allowed to come to earth again." He stared intensely at her, willing her to understand, trying to keep his mind focused on the subject and not on how lovely her face looked all flushed and warm in the darkness, her hair a mess of soft waves around her face. "And if they find out about us, we will be severely punished. More severely than you can imagine. I vowed I would not let that happen to you, and I will not break that vow. Not now." He was silent for a long moment, as if collecting his thoughts, then finally admitted, in a small voice: "But I am selfish. We may all die, very soon, and I do not want to spend my last days without you."

Eli closed her eyes, resting her forehead against his, feeling his breath on her skin. "So what does that mean?"

He hesitated, his hands tenderly tracing the line of her back, and when he spoke the words had a strange choking quality to them, as if he could barely stand to get them out. "It means that I will do whatever they ask of me, no matter if it is wrong. It means that a time will come when I will do horrible things, things that you will not understand, that you will think are cold and unfeeling, even evil. In the end, you will hate me for it." His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "That is the price we have to pay for these small momentary happinesses."

Eli opened her eyes; his were so very close and so very blue, shadowed with fatalism and weariness and resignation. She leaned in and kissed him, softly, one hand coming up to caress the too-human line of stubble across his jaw.

"I'm okay with that," she murmured, and kissed him again, harder, until he responded, moving against her until everything in the world disappeared except for them.

* * *

Eli could hear Bobby's voice as she entered the house and threw the car keys on a low table, kicking off her boots and hanging her jacket in the hallway.

"The news ain't good," he was saying, and Eli was surprised to hear how tired his voice sounded. Beneath her feet, Sam was howling weakly. "Fifteen-man fishing crew all stricken blind, cause unknown. New York, teacher goes postal, locks the door, kills exactly sixty-six kids. All this in a single day. I looked them up. There's no doubt about it: they're all seals. Breaking. Fast."

"How many are left?" Dean asked as she entered the room. He turned to stare at her, taking in her frazzled appearance, and Eli was glad that she had at least had the foresight to shower at the motel. "Where the hell have you been all night?" he demanded. "It's been hell here."

"I'm sorry," she apologized, grabbing a beer from a cooler on the floor and curling up on a chair. "I had things to do. How's Sam?"

"How does he sound?" Bobby asked angrily. "Sam is practically dying, we're almost all out of seals. Where the hell are your angel pals?"

Both of them turned to Eli. She shrugged, feeling incredibly guiltily. "Don't look at me."

Bobby sighed. "I don't know. It's just…" He trailed off.

Dean sat up slowly, his posture tense, as if he knew exactly what Bobby was going to say. "Just what?"

Bobby looked at Eli for help, but she was clueless, so he squared his shoulders and turned to Dean. "The apocalypse being nigh and all...is now really the best time to be having this little domestic drama of ours?" He directed his gaze pointedly down toward the panic room. As if on cue, Sam let up another pleading yell.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked dangerously.

Bobby stood and walked to the window, his hands shoved deep in his blue jeans, his baseball cap tilted over his face as if to hide his eyes. "Well, I don't like this any more than you do, but Sam can kill demons. He's got a shot at stopping Armageddon."

Dean got up and followed him angrily. "So what? Sacrifice Sam's life, his soul, for the greater good? Is that what you're saying? Times are bad, so let's use Sam as a nuclear warhead?"

"He's got a point, Dean," Eli said quietly. Dean whirled on her.

"You stay out of this!" he shouted.

"Look, I know you hate me for suggesting it," Bobby said, drawing Dean's attention back to him. "I hate me for suggesting it. I love that boy like a son. All I'm saying is maybe he's here right now instead of on the battlefield because we love him too much."

Dean stared at him, and for one long, tense moment Eli thought he was about to throw a punch. Instead he grabbed his leather jacket off of a chair and marched from the room.

"Where are you going?" Eli called after him.

"Away from here!" he yelled, slamming the door behind him.

Dean spent several hours just driving aimlessly in the Impala, trying to temper both his fury and his hopelessness. He couldn't believe that both Eli and Bobby were against him, that both of them were willing to let Sam turn into a monster. Especially Eli. He had become fond of her over their months of traveling together, and he really believed that the pretty hunter had a heart, that she cared about them, both of them. There was something deeply betraying about her willingness to throw Sam to the wolves.

That night, he went outside and screamed himself hoarse, begging to talk to Castiel. He was determined to do anything to save his little brother, even if it meant signing up with the asshole angel brigade. He swore his allegiance to Heaven in Bobby's yard, surrounded by the gritty shells of old cars, feeling like a little chunk of his soul was pulled from his body as he said the words. He entered the house in desolation, Sam still weeping and screaming in the panic room, and lay down on the couch, feeling inexorably that things could not, in any possible way, get worse for him than they were at that very moment.

Something shifted quietly in the darkness, and he cracked his eyes open without moving his head. Eli was sneaking out, tiptoeing quietly by the sleeping men, her head a halo of yellow in the shadows. He watched her silently pull her jacket from the rack, slip on her shoes, and disappear out the door. Without thinking, he got up and followed her.

"What is it with everyone and sneaking out late at night?" he grumbled to himself as he climbed into the Impala. He was trying to stay calm, but inside he was freaked as hell. Eli had been disappearing a lot over the past weeks, always citing 'business.' He was reminded forcefully of Sam sneaking off to see Ruby. He tried to convince himself that whatever Eli was doing was surely completely innocent—she was half angel, for God's sake! She wouldn't be hanging out with demons or drinking blood or anything. She was probably just clearing her head, or doing research, or receiving orders from the angels.

The feeling in the pit of his gut deepened to near-sickness levels as he pulled to a stop across the street and watched her enter a motel. "What the hell is she doing?" he whispered. "Well, only one way to find out."

The room she had chosen was on the second floor and without accessible windows. He checked out the side of the motel and found an old oak tree that grew close to the building. Dean stared at it for a long moment, then hung his head.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered, before hooking his boot onto a gnarled limb and heaving himself up the tree. "God damn girl better be doing something nice and explainable, like binging on thin mints or watching a rom-com."

He stopped in front of the window and eased onto a sturdy branch. The shades were drawn, but on the very edge was the thinnest crack through which Dean could see what was going on. His eyes widened at the sight of who else was in the room. "Or meeting with angels…" he whispered, suddenly relieved. "Good girl. Just helping out with the end of the world. No scary shit for our Eli."

He was just about to shimmy back down the tree when he noticed what she was doing. "Hex bags?" he asked himself, watching her put them around the room. "What the hell are those for?"

Dean stared hard at the window, wishing he could hear what they were saying. For the first time he noticed that Cas' signature trench coat was draped across a chair, his tie and black suit-jacket folded neatly on top of it, leaving him to look strangely normal in his white button-down shirt. They were standing close together now, Eli saying something with an earnest, worried look on her face. Cas nodded solemnly and responded with something that seemed to make her feel better. Dean was getting uncomfortable and cold on the tree limb, the bark digging like daggers into his skin. He wondered how much longer this was going to go on.

Then Eli stepped closer and put her hand flat on his chest. Dean raised his eyebrows. "Woah, getting a little touchy-feely there, aren't we, Eli?" he muttered. He was surprised when Castiel responded by brushing a lock of hair away from her face with his finger.

He was _really_ surprised when Castiel kissed her.

"What in holy mother of fuck fucking hell shit god damn what the fuck what?" Dean gasped, nearly falling out of the tree. He couldn't believe his eyes. They were making out. Eli and the stoic, heartless, manipulative angel he had just sold his fucking soul to were making out.

And then Dean got an eyeful of way more angel than he ever wanted to see. Way more.

"Oh no, oh god, my eyes," Dean moaned, pulling his gaze away from the window and clamoring clumsily down the tree. He ran back to the Impala; once inside, he pounded his forehead against the steering wheel.

"That's what I get for thinking my life can't get any worse."

* * *

Dean was awake, waiting for Eli with crossed arms when she crept back into the house later that night. He flicked on a light as she entered the kitchen and she squealed, spinning around with her hand clutching her chest.

"Damnit, Dean, you nearly gave me a heart-attack!" she hissed. He stared at her thunderously. "What's the matter with you?"

"Let's go for a walk," he said, jerking his head to the side door. Eli raised her eyebrows.

"Okayyyy." She followed him out the door and into the moonlit night, jogging lightly to keep up with his long strides. He walked until they were a sufficient distance from the house, surrounded by mountains of old cars, close to the place where Dean swore to Castiel only hours before. Then he slammed on his heel and spun around, facing her with a furious look in his eyes.

"Dean, what's going on?" she asked nervously, backing up. He advanced on her.

"Where were you tonight?" he asked, his voice deathly calm.

Eli felt something hard and sick lodge itself in the pit of her stomach. _Oh shit._ "I was just… running some… errands," she stuttered. "Personal things."

"Oh, it was personal things, all right," he hissed.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest.

Dean came so close to her that she could smell the leather of his jacket, then yelled in her face: "I followed you!"

Her cheeks went deathly white. "Oh my God, Dean, I can explain…" she gasped.

"Can you?" he thundered. "Really? 'Cause Sam might have lied to me about the demon blood, but that's because it's an _addiction_. He at least told me about sleeping with the demon bitch! But you! Sneaking around behind our backs and putting our _lives_ in _danger_ …"

"Dean," she pleaded, backing up frantically.

"What I've seen cannot be unseen!" he yelled crazily. "Damnit Eli, it can't be unseen!"

"I'm sorry!" she cried. "Dean, really I am! It was stupid, _is_ stupid, I know, believe me I know."

"I just fucking sold my soul to those bastards and you're _screwing_ one of them? You could bring the wrath of Heaven down on our fucking heads!"

"I KNOW!"

His voice was suddenly calmer, almost sad, his eyes old. In the starlight he looked washed-out and grey, a ghost of himself, like he could flicker and vanish at any moment. "Then why did you do it?"

Eli gazed at him wearily. "Because…oh hell, Dean." She sank down onto an old tire and stared into space, her face hollow and wan, shoulders slumped. "I don't know. A lot of reasons. The apocalypse is coming, and there's a snowball's chance we can stop it. Most likely we'll die trying. All of us: humans, angels, everyone involved in this war probably won't come out the other side. You know this better than anyone. And I just…I just wanted to be _happy_ , just for a little while, before the lights went out." She sounded close to tears. "I know it's wrong and I'm _sorry_ , I really am, but I'm not regretful, Dean. Sometimes we need something to keep us going. You've got Sam, and you're so lucky to have him. I just…needed this. I needed it. And I didn't want to die without…" She trailed off, choking on her words. After a moment, Dean realized she was crying.

"Aw, fuck," he muttered. "Don't think I'm gonna go easy on you because you start bawling." Eli sniffled, taking a shaking breath to steady her nerves, and stood, brushing dirt off of her jeans. She smiled weakly at him, the tracks of her tears glowing silver in the moonlight.

"I know. You want to take a swing at me?"

He was taken aback. "What?"

"A swing. I know you want to. You don't have to feel bad about hitting a girl. I can take it. Come on. I deserve it." She squared her shoulders as if really expecting him to throw a punch.

"Eli, I'm not going to hit you," he said flatly. Her shoulders dropped.

"Oh. What do you want, then?"

"Preferably some brain bleach," he snarked. "But since that's not gonna happen, I'll settle for you not lying and sneaking around behind my back. I've already been through this with Sam, I can't go through it again with you."

Eli stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. "That's reasonable. No secrets."

He sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, staring pensively around the junkyard. The moon bathed everything in an eerie glow, as if the husks of old cars were skeletons, watching him. Beneath his feet the wind swirled up little clouds of dust that whipped at his ankles. "So I take it the other angels don't know about you boning one of their own, huh?"

"Classy, Dean," Eli said, visibly calmed by the fact that he was speaking civilly again. "And no, of course not. If they found out, there would be—"

"Hell to pay," Dean finished for her. She nodded.

"Literally."

He met her eyes. "You're screwing with a lot of lives here, Eli."

She stared back unflinchingly. "I know."

His mouth twisted a little, but in the darkness Eli wasn't sure if it was a grin or a grimace. "But seriously, _Cas_?"

"He's a good man," she said evenly, and he shot her a look.

"He's not a man, Eli. He never was. Never will be."

She stared at him coolly until he gave up and turned his head away, the moon casting shadows on his handsome face. "Don't worry, your creepy secret is safe with me," he said in a resigned voice. "Let's just hope those fuckers don't find out before the big showdown."

"Yeah," Eli said as they headed back to the house, two small figures walking through a maze of cars in the moonlight night. "Because I don't think our lives can afford to suck any more than they already do."

"Amen to that."

* * *

It happened the next afternoon, after they were forced to chain Sam to a cot in the panic room. There was nothing to do but wait. Bobby was out looking for leads. Eli and Dean were side-by-side on the couch, heads nearly touching, feet propped up on the battered coffee table, trying to ignore Sam's shrill cries by drinking beer and playing a game of "anywhere but here."

"I would be in the Florida Keys," Dean said dreamily, his head tilted back. He slowly put the bottle to his lips and took a deep drink. "A busty, loose-moraled woman on each arm, eating a steak dinner. With French fries. And cheesecake. And sex."

"Nice," Eli said, shimmying deeper into the couch. "I agree with the beach idea. If I could be anywhere, I would be in Bali right now, toes in the sand, sipping a heavily-tequila spiked drink with a little umbrella in it." She sighed. "I've always wanted to go to Bali. Wish I was there right now."

She fell suddenly silent. Dean rolled his head to look at her and nearly spit out his beer, jumping from the couch in confusion.

Eli was gone.

"Eli? Eli!" he yelled, circling the couch. "Come on, this isn't funny!" He ducked his head into the kitchen, but it was empty. He reentered the den and paced, checking the corners like she would be hiding among the guns and dust bunnies. "Where the hell are you?"

"Here," gasped a voice from the other side of the room. Eli was standing there, looking so shocked it was almost comical. Her hair was frizzing as if from heat, and sand clung to her socked feet.

"What the hell?" he snapped. "What happened? Where were you?"

Eli licked her lips nervously, twisting her hands together in front of her. "I, ah…I think I was in Bali."

Dean shook his head as if to clear water out of his ears. "What? But you can't teleport, that's not something you can do, right?" He stared at her, hard. "Right?"

"I can't! I don't know what happened. One minute I was on the couch thinking about how much I would like to see Bali, and then…I was there. I don't know how. Then I thought about here and I was back. I mean, I can't teleport. Not like the angels can. That's crazy, right?"

"I don't know," Dean said, running his hands through his hair. "Uh, think of someplace now."

"Where?" she demanded.

"I don't know! The kitchen. We need more beer any—"

Eli vanished, then ran out of the kitchen excitedly.

"I can teleport!" she yelled triumphantly, throwing her hands above her head and waving them around like a muppet. She was running too fast for socks and slid into him, grabbing his arm for support, beaming. "This is awesome!"

Dean was more sober about it. "Yeah, but the question is, how?" he asked suspiciously. "I mean, new powers don't just pop up out of nowhere."

"I might have an answer for that," a gruff and somewhat sheepish voice said from behind them. They whirled around to see Castiel standing in the doorway.

"Well, if it isn't the perfect obedient angel," Dean snapped. Castiel just shifted on his feet, looking discomfited by Dean's display of anger. Eli sighed.

"He knows, Cas."

Castiel's blue eyes shot up with something close to fear in them. Dean shook his head.

"Oh, I know, all right. I wish to God I didn't, though."

"You understand that this information can never be revealed," Castiel rasped, suddenly looking fiercer and more dangerous, like the warrior he was. He crossed the room and came very close to Dean's face with an intimidating scowl. "If it were to become known it would ruin the lives of everyone in this room, at the very least."

"Jeez, yeah, of course. Not a word," Dean said, holding up his hands. Castiel retreated a little, looking satisfied. Dean couldn't resist getting the last word in. "But don't you think you guys should have thought of that before you went and did anything?"

"Drop it, Dean," Eli growled.

"Fine, whatever, bone or don't bone, I don't care," he snapped. "Just tell us what the hell is going on with Eli's mojo."

Castiel tilted his head. "I believe it may be a …side effect," he said slowly.

"Of what?" Dean and Eli asked simultaneously. Castiel glanced around the room, not meeting anyone's eyes and looking uncommonly uncomfortable.

"Well, it's just a theory, but…" He trailed off, then started again, his rough voice coming out jerky and stilted. "Sam derives his power from demonic sources, so he increases his abilities by imbibing the blood of demons. Elijah…derives her power from her angelic father. It is my theory that a Nephilim who maintains a certain level of… closeness with an angel might find their powers temporarily…enhanced." By the end of his speech he was nearly stuttering, his hands awkwardly balled in the pockets of his trench coat.

There was a moment of silence in which Eli's face turned brilliant red and she studied her dirty socks like they were the most fascinating things in the universe.

"I don't get it," Dean finally said, and both of their heads jerked up to look at him in surprise. "I mean, Eli's been close to angels for months, why is she suddenly showing effects now?"

They stared at him, hard. He looked between them. Eli raised her eyebrows pointedly.

"Oh. Oh! Close. Close-close. Okay. Got it," he stammered, embarrassed. Eli felt like slapping herself on the forehead. "Oh, shit. So you guys are like… getting it on for the good of all mankind?"

"Dean," Eli groaned, burying her face in her hands. Castiel's mouth thinned.

"This effect was … unintended," he said, glowering at Dean. "But it could end up being beneficial in your fight against Lilith, provided no one realizes the origin of her new abilities."

"How?" Dean asked, but at that moment the door opened and Bobby entered.

"What are you two standing around like idiots for?" he barked. Eli and Dean shared a look before turning back to Castiel, but the angel was gone.

* * *

That night, Sam escaped.

He stole two different cars and drove all night, calling Ruby desperately. Finally he found a hotel and holed up in it, waiting for her to arrive.

She knocked on the door a few hours later, a smirk on her pretty face as Sam opened it. "Honeymoon suite, really? I'm flattered," she said as she swept inside.

Sam closed the door and bolted it, his fingers trembling so badly he could barely slide the chain into place. "Did you bust me out of that room?"

"How could I, Sam?" Ruby scoffed. She perched on the edge of the bed and crossed her long legs daintily. "The whole thing's engineered to bite me in the ass."

Sam was shaking and sweating at the same time, sweat rolling furiously into his eyes. He blinked rapidly, feeling the sting of salt and dirt. He didn't even know how he was still standing straight. "Then how did I get out of there?"

Ruby shrugged, looking supremely uninterested. "I don't know. I don't wanna know. You're out. That's all that matters." She smiled at him seductively. "I'm glad you're here."

"Yeah?" Sam asked aggressively. His stomach rolled and the room pitched. His tongue felt thick in his mouth. "Where have you been?"

"I got here as quick as I could," Ruby snapped.

"I mean the past three weeks. I've been calling." Sam's voice was rising into a deadly whine.

"I've been pretty deep in it trying to dig out Lilith," Ruby said with an irritated flounce, tossing her shiny black hair behind one shoulder. "Sometimes I can't sit around and check my voicemail. I'm sorry you're hurting. Really. I had no idea that Dean would do that to you."

Sam sighed. He knew that he shouldn't trust Ruby but she had done so much for him, saved his life on so many occasions, and right now she was the only one who seemed to understand him, who was even willing to talk to him. He felt a new respect for her rise up as she spoke sympathetically about his fight with Dean. Demon or no, she was on the right side, his side. He knew it with every fiber of his being.

Still, he couldn't hold out forever. He pushed her so that her back was pressed into the mattress, sliding down her body in search of the knife he knew she would have on her. It was tucked into her boot, all sharp and silver and beautiful. He was just about to slice open a vein and drink when she stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back.

"Sammy?" she asked innocently. "Before we do this, I have to know. Did you remember to bring me what I asked for?"

Sighing in pain and irritation, Sam got off the bed and rummaged around in the duffel bag he had thrown on the floor. "Yes, finally. I've been trying to get a hold of it for months now. I thought it was in one of Dad's safe houses, but it turns out it was in a secret safe of Bobby's. Nicked it as I escaped." He held up the object, a slim, unbroken circle of silver. It glinted eerily in the light. "What is it, anyway?"

"Oh, nothing," Ruby purred, pulling him back to the bed. He slid the knife along her arm, bringing up a deep well of blood, and leaned down to suck deeply at it. "Just a collar," she said, stroking his hair as he drank. "Just a very special collar for a very special person."

Sam wasn't even listening anymore.

* * *

Eli sat in Bobby's house, scanning the weather reports online. "Here!" she called. Bobby held out the phone so she could yell into it. "Massive lightening storms, hail, you name it. All happening in a town called Cold Springs."

"You got that, Dean?" Bobby asked, placing the phone next to his ear. He listened for a moment, nodding. "Listen, Dean. Us finding Sam? It's gotta be about getting him back, not pushing him away." He paused again, then said in as empathetic a tone as Eli had ever heard him use: "I know you're mad, Dean. I understand. You got a right to be, but I'm just saying. Be good to him anyway. You gotta get through to him."

He stopped, waited, and then sighed, looking at Eli. "He hung up."

"He'll be okay, Bobby," Eli said, pushing the chair away from the computer. "He always is."

"You just tell yourself that," Bobby said. She looked at him, confused, brushing messy hair out of her eyes. "I know how this is worrying you, Eli. You shouldn't have to try and stay strong for me."

"Bobby," Eli started, then looked down, fiddling with the cords of her ratty sweatshirt, remembering how distraught Dean had been after Sam escaped, how he didn't even seem like the same person. He had screamed at her before he left, his eyes wild and hysterical. _Just stay out of this! We're not your family! Deal with your own problems and leave my brother to me!_ "I just wish I could be there with him now," she said finally. "I wish he would stop cutting me out. I could help, I know I could."

"I know that," Bobby said gently. "But this is more than the apocalypse. This is about two brothers. And some things Dean just has to do on his own. He'll get Sam back."

* * *

He didn't get Sam back.

Eli had finally fallen into a troubled sleep on one of Bobby's spare beds when she heard raised voices coming from downstairs.

"You stupid, stupid son of a bitch!" Bobby's harsh drawl was unmistakable, though it was angrier than she had heard it in a long time. Quietly she got up and edged down the stairs. "Well, _boo hoo_ , I am so sorry your feelings are hurt, princess! Are you under the impression that family's supposed to make you feel good? Make you an apple pie, maybe? _They're supposed to make you miserable!_ That's why they're family!"

Now she could see them. Dean was standing by a window, staring out of it with such concentration that it looked like he was holding back tears.

"I told him, 'you walk out that door, don't come back' and he walked out anyway!" Dean insisted gruffly. "That was his choice!"

"He's sick, Dean," Eli said from her place on the stairs, and both men whipped around to look at her. "And deluded. And you pushed him away?"

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Dean snapped. "No matter what's going on, he's still Sam, and he made his choice."

"You sound like a whiny brat," Bobby said fiercely, then paused. "No, you sound like your dad. Well, let me tell you something. Your dad was a coward."

Dean went deathly still. "My dad was a lot of things, Bobby, but a coward?"

"He'd rather push Sam away than reach out to him. That don't strike me as brave. You are a better man than your daddy ever was. So you do both of us a favor. Don't be him."

His rant finished, Bobby turned and stomped away. Eli approached Dean with trepidation.

"Dean," she whispered, reaching out a hand. He turned to look at her, unmistakable tears in his eyes.

"Eli," he croaked desperately. "I think I've made a terrible—"

And then he was gone.


	12. Lucifer Rising

**_Saint Mary's Convent: 1972_ **

 

The stone room, round and chill and ancient, was spackled with blood. In some areas the runoff was so thick it formed sticky puddles that pooled around what used to be nuns but were now just sad hunks of flesh and torn clothing. Limbs were strewn across the floor like toys, entrails hanging noose-like over pews and seeping pale fluids into the pages of destroyed bibles.

Draped over the alter was a mostly-intact nun, her corpse positioned with its arms flung out, head tilted upside-down. Out of the silence, Lucifer's voice whispered eerily through the lips of her disemboweled body. " _I am here, my son_ ," it hissed, strangely distorted.

Azazel, kneeling on the floor in still-warm blood, let out a sigh of relief. "It's so good to hear your voice, Padre. I have been searching for you for so long. You have no idea." He trembled for a moment, hardly able to believe that he was finally here, then continued fervently. "The others have lost faith. Dickless heathens. But not me."

" _You've done well_ ," the voice murmured sibilantly, the nun's mouth moving like a doll's.

Azazel paused, unsure of how to continue. He licked his lips; they tasted of liquid iron, warm and sticky from where blood had splashed over his host's skin. "So… how do I bust you out?"

" _Lilith."_

Azazel gave a nervous chuckle. "Lilith? Father, she's... trapped neck-deep in the pit. It won't be easy."

" _Lilith,"_ the voice insisted. " _Lilith can break the seals."_

"Yeah, okay," Azazel said, trying to temper his usual sarcastic, impatient nature. "But what do I do?"

The smallest hesitation; the nun's eyes rolled in her head, the mouth hanging slack. Then it moved again, the words surprising the loyal demon. _"You have two tasks, my son. First you must find me a child. A very special child."_

Azazel's eyes turned a burnished, sick yellow, and he grinned, eager for the challenge, the hunt. "And the second?"

" _I have seen what will come to pass. The Halfling will be born. When it is time, you must bring me it, and that which can bind it, that which was forged in the fires of heaven. With these I will ravage the land."_

* * *

 

 

**_Present Day_ **

 

Eli stared for a moment in shock at the empty place where Dean had just been standing. Then her face grew thunderous.

"Angels," she growled, slamming her fist into the wall. "God damn ANGELS!"

"What's all the ruckus?" Bobby asked, emerging from the kitchen. "Where's Dean?"

Eli looked at him in frustrated hopelessness. "He's gone. They took him."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Bobby demanded. "Do your angel mojo thing and find him!"

"Don't rush me," Eli snapped. She walked over to the couch, crossed her legs under her, and concentrated, closing her eyes and screwing up her nose. After a few minutes she sighed.

"I can't get a signal. It looks like all towers are down."

"Well, try again," Bobby said, sounding frantic. He ripped the dirty ball cap off of his head and twisted it anxiously in his hands like he was throttling it. "There has to be _something_ you can do. You can't be completely useless."

"Ouch, Bobby, thanks for that," she said, shooting him a look. He sighed, sinking into a chair and groaning.

"Shit, Eli, you know what I mean. You're the only thing we got now. Sam off with that demon, Dean gone…world is ending and we're out of heroes. So I'm hoping that having a half-angel on our side will count for something."

Eli rocked her head back against the couch, her hair falling into her face and tinting her vision yellow. "No, you're right. I am useless. But maybe I can contact someone who's not."

She closed her eyes, trying to find Castiel's unmistakable glimmer, but all she saw was darkness. No, not darkness: a barrier. She pushed against it gently with her mind. It didn't budge.

She sighed. "Give me time, Bobby."

Hours passed. Eli all but gave up hope, finally abandoning her attempt to use her powers and instead just calling his name.

"Cas!" she yelled, pacing the carpet. "Cas, where are you, you son of a bitch! Castiel! Cas!"

"Can you stop that racket?" Bobby shouted from the kitchen. "Your mojo stuff didn't work, you think if you _yell_ he'll hear you?"

"It's a form of prayer," said a familiar voice, and Eli spun around to see Castiel standing a few feet away, looking exhausted. "Hello, Elijah."

"Cas," she said, taking a step toward him. "Where's Dean? I want to see him."

He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. "I will take you now."

He started to reach out but she jerked away, surprised. "Wait, what? Just like that? After the disappearing act and the mental barriers and everything engineered to keep me out, now you're just going to take me to him?"

"It is what you want, isn't it?" he asked, a little too flatly. Eli shook her head.

"Yes, I mean, no, I mean…" She paused and took a deep breath. "Cas, I don't trust you right now. What's going on?"

He stared evenly at her, his blue eyes pained, the furrow in his brow more prominent than ever. "I have been ordered to take you to him."

Now Eli was really scared. "What?" she asked, skittering backward nervously as he began to approach with single-minded intent. "Ordered? By who? Why?"

"Does it matter?" he asked coldly. "They are my orders and I obey them." He was now only a foot away. Eli tried to teleport but found that she couldn't. He looked at her, something sad lingering in the curve of his mouth. "I told you this day would come, Eli," he said, then reached out and touched her and they were gone.

* * *

They appeared in one of the strangest places Eli had ever seen. It was a white room, pristine, edged in gold and hung with strategically placed paintings. In the center of it, like a bizarre still life, was a long table heaped high with beer on one end and burgers on the other.

"Eli?"

Dean dropped the pedestal he was using to smash out the wall, not even noticing as the hole he had created magically fixed itself. Eli rushed to him.

"Dean!" she cried, impulsively throwing her arms around his shoulders. "Thank God."

"Don't thank Him just yet," Dean said darkly. "How are you here?" He glanced suspiciously at Castiel, who was still standing stiffly on the other side of the room and watching the exchange through narrowed eyes. "I thought I wasn't allowed visitors."

"Apparently I'm not a visitor," she said, turning around momentarily to glare at Castiel, whose expression didn't change. "I think right now I'm as much of a prisoner as you are."

"What? Why?" He directed his last question at the angel, but after a moment of silence looked at Eli again. "Well, I'm just glad you're here. This place is freaking me out."

"I know," Eli said, stepping away from Dean to inspect the walls with interest. The gold edging looked real; she ran a finger along the white paint and the smell of lavender and jasmine wafted up. "It's like, a little _too_ clean."

"Well, you know what they say," said a new voice. They spun around to see Zachariah standing there, his hands spread expansively. "Cleanliness is next to Godliness."

Eli glowered. She would recognize that smug tone anywhere. "What is going on, Zachariah?" she asked, instinctively crossing her arms as if shield herself from him. "Why am I here?"

He merely smiled at her, like kindly grandfather about to impart a special treat. "Merely to say Thank You for a job well done."

She raised her eyebrows, not buying it for a minute. Something about him _bothered_ her, at an almost molecular level, with his ingratiating smile and sharp, watery eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Well, Dean is here, isn't he?" he asked, walking towards her with a bounce in his step, looking supremely relaxed and confident. "In one piece, happy, healthy, fit. Barely a scratch on him! You've done your job well, Elijah. Now it's time for you to receive your reward."

He held open his hand, letting something dangle from it. It was a small pendant hanging from a silver cord. Inside the pendant swirled all of the colors on the earth, and then some, like a tiny universe trapped in crystal. It was beautiful.

"Is that…?" Eli asked, edging closer to inspect it.

"A grace. You bet it is. But not just any grace. _Your_ grace. Especially designed for you, Elijah. It's time for you to get your wings. All you have to do," he said, smiling reassuringly at her, "is say yes."

Eli tore her gaze away from its hypnotic movement to glare suspiciously. "Why now?" she asked in a wary voice.

"I already told you," he said, taking another step, dangerously close to invading her personal space.

"Yeah yeah, job well done, I heard you," she said, moving away and holding out her hands. "But it doesn't make sense. Becoming an angel should make me _more_ powerful, right? Then why did I have to run around on my piss ass powers for a whole season? I was useless in protecting the Winchesters half the time. Wouldn't it have made more sense to give me a grace, oh I don't know, before all the seals were broken?"

"We had to be sure of your loyalty," Zachariah said, a little too smoothly. "Which you have proven."

"Have I?" Eli asked shrewdly. "I stood up against you guys when it came to Anna. I punched Castiel in the face. I insulted Uriel in every degree possible. I sided with Dean and Sam over the angels every time I had a decision to make. How is that proving my loyalty?"

Zachariah was getting exasperated. "We're offering you what you want, Elijah. We know what's in your heart and that _you deserve this._ Now stop whining like a spoiled child. Don't you want to belong somewhere? Don't you want to spend your life fighting evil? You'll be able to help Dean in his quest much more as an angel than you can in your current piddling form." He paused, looking at her piously. "Don't you want to meet your father? I know for a fact that he's very anxious to meet you."

Eli was torn. She glanced at Dean. He shrugged, as if to say, _what the hell are you looking at me for?_

"What about Dean?" she asked, turning back to Zachariah. "What's your plan for him?"

"That will all be explained once you _take the grace,_ Elijah," he said, stepping very close to her and shaking the chain so that the crystal bobbed, the colors swirling inside like a tiny ocean.

Eli looked at it thoughtfully, her hand coming up to cup the grace. Then she risked a glance at Castiel, standing just beyond Zachariah's shoulder. He met her gaze, widened his eyes fractionally, and with the slightest, barely perceptible movement, shook his head.

"Thanks, but I'm gonna pass," Eli said, stepping back and letting the crystal fall from her palm.

Zachariah's face was a bizarre combination of extreme confusion and fury. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"Yeah, no, I dunno. Doesn't seem my thing. All those rules and obedience. Trust me, you wouldn't want me up there," she said, trying to sound lighthearted and cheeky, but in reality she was scared shitless at the look in Zachariah's eyes.

"I offer you your dreams and you say 'I'm gonna pass?'" he said, the hint of a snarl in his voice.

"Who said they were my dreams?" Eli shot back. "You angels act like you are the be-all-and-end-all, but from what I've seen you're all just a bunch of stick-up-your-asses, obedient, can't think for yourselves douchebags. And I'm sorry, Zach, that is not my dream. I'd rather be an abomination than your butt monkey."

Zachariah gaped at her. "You ungrateful little…"

"Freak, thing, abomination, stain, curse, blah blah blah. I've heard all of your insults before. So why don't you just accept politely that I'm not going to say yes and tell us how we're going to ice Lilith."

Zachariah puffed air from his lips in a frustrated sigh and then drew himself up, turning to the angel behind him.

"You can go now, Castiel," he said in an authoritative tone. Castiel shot Eli one last look, a slight nervousness betraying itself on his previously impassive features, and disappeared.

"Now," Zachariah said, and there was something in his manner that felt wrong, deeply deeply wrong. Eli felt like a girl lost in the city at night, running down alleys and around hairpin turns, and Zachariah was the dark man waiting at the end with a smile and a butcher knife. "I'm afraid that I have to clear up some tiny misconceptions for the two of you."

Dean must have felt it to, that inherent send of _wrongness_ , because he immediately amped up the aggression, the line of his shoulders tightening, the veins of his neck standing out. "What misconceptions?"

Zachariah folded his hands in front of him and tipped his head, staring at them with impassive, colorless eyes. "You're not going to… ice Lilith."

Dean and Eli shared a look, then simultaneously exclaimed: _"What?"_

"Lilith's going to break the final seal," Zachariah explained patiently and not without pride. "Fait accompli at this point. Train's left the station."

"But we can stop..." Dean started, but then he understood. Eli finished the sentence for him.

"They don't want to stop it," she said softly, her words laced with something close to hatred. Zachariah just beamed at her smugly.

"Nope. Never did. The end is nigh. The apocalypse is coming, kids, to a theater near you."

"What was all that crap about saving seals?" Dean demanded. The look of betrayal and horror on his face was almost pathetic, like he was an animal about to be put down. Zachariah let out a small, condescending chuckle, smoothing the lines of his vessel's tailor-made suit.

"Our grunts on the ground - we couldn't just tell them the whole truth. We'd have a full-scale rebellion on our hands. I mean, think about it. Would we really let 65 seals get broken unless senior management wanted it that way?"

"But why?" Eli cried.

Zachariah shrugged, slipping his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "Why not?"

"Um, because it's the fucking apocalypse?" Eli drawled harshly, barely able to speak. Her jaw was clenched so tight that it made her whole face hurt, all of her energy focused on the act of staying calm, to not fly into a useless rage.

Zachariah shook his head. "Poor name, bad marketing - puts people off. All it is a battle. And we like our chances. When our side wins - and we will - it's paradise on earth. Now, what's not to like about that?"

Dean stumbled backward, looking wildly around as if expecting to wake up from a horrible dream. The paintings on the walls stared down at him, their inhabitants writhing in fire and agony, humanity crushed by Heaven's raging war. He fixed his reddened gaze back on Zachariah. "What happens to all the _people_ during your little pissing contest?"

"Well," Zachariah said, spreading his hands apologetically. "You can't make an omelet without cracking a few eggs. In this case... truckloads of eggs, but you get the picture. Look... it happens. This isn't the first planetary enema we've delivered."

"All right, that's it," Eli snapped, grabbing Dean's arm. "I've heard enough. We're outta here."

She closed her eyes and teleported herself and Dean away.

They reappeared in the exact same spot.

Dean looked around, confused. "Wait, how come we're still…" he started, turning to her. "Holy shit, Eli!"

She was writhing on the ground in convulsions, blood dripping from her nose and ears. Her eyes were rolled back in her head, only the whites showing, and from her throat came a horrible retching noise as she struggled to breathe, small beads of foam bubbling at the corners of her mouth. Dean immediately knelt by her side and grabbed her shoulders but he couldn't stop the thrashing. "What did you do to her, you bastard!" he yelled, looking up at Zachariah in panic.

"Oh calm down, she'll be fine," the angel said, settling himself onto a small white couch. "She just hit a barrier."

"Doesn't look like just a barrier to me," Dean snapped. On the floor, Eli was still seizing, choking and gasping for air.

"We know her power level has recently increased," Zachariah explained. "We still don't know how, but we'll figure it out eventually. We also knew she might try to leave the party a bit prematurely, so we erected…well, you're right, I shouldn't really call it a barrier. More like an electric fence."

Dean glared at him. "I'll kill you, you …."

"Oh please, enough with the puppy dog eyes. She'll be fine. This was just a slap on the wrist. Now, why don't we finish our conversation."

* * *

Time passed. Dean paced the room a hundred times, searching for a flaw in the perfect, too-smooth walls, tipping over vases and kicking the legs off chairs in his anger. Finally he whipped out his cell phone and attempted to call Sam again. He knew it probably wouldn't work, but he needed to try something. Just walking back-and-forth and feeling utterly helpless, knowing that outside that disgustingly clean white room the apocalypse was about to begin, was driving him crazy.

"You can't reach him, Dean," a familiar rough voice said. "You're outside your coverage zone."

Dean jerked around to find Castiel standing there, looking as beaten as Dean had ever seen him. He approached the angel unsteadily.

"What are you gonna do to Sam?" he demanded. Castiel turned away from his glare.

"Nothing. He's going to do it to himself."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked. There was a long pause. Castiel kept his face to the ground, studiously not looking at him or anywhere else in the room. "Oh right," Dean said sarcastically. "Cas the good little soldier. Only breaks the rules when no one is looking. Can just turn off his emotions when the going gets tough. Why the hell are you even here?"

Castiel hesitated, then lifted his eyes. "We've been through much together, you and I," he said haltingly. "And I just wanted to say… I'm sorry it ended like this."

"Sorry?" Dean scoffed. "It's Armageddon, Cas. You need a bigger word than _sorry_."

"Try to understand –" Castiel said, squinting at him, and Dean realized that this was so that he wouldn't have to look at anything else in the room. "This is long foretold. This is your..."

"Destiny?" Dean yelled, clenching his hands into fists and trying to resist the urge to start throwing punches. "Don't give me that 'holy' crap. Destiny, God's plan... It's all a bunch of lies! It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line! You know what's real? People, families - that's real. And you're gonna watch them all burn?" He paused, breathing deeply, nostrils flaring. "Are you going to watch her burn?"

Castiel dropped his eyes just a fraction.

"Oh no, you son of a bitch, you don't get out that easily. Let's talk about the fucking elephant in the room." He grabbed Castiel's jaw and jerked it to the right. "Look at what those bastards did to her! And you're just gonna sit there and do nothing?"

Eli was huddled in the far corner. She had stopped convulsing but was staring blankly into space, drawing in fast, shallow breaths like it was painful to breathe, her hands clutching her ribs. Dried blood still lined her nose and traced a path from her earlobes down her neck. She didn't even seem to notice that Castiel was in the room.

"That is why I must do this," Castiel rasped, choking on his words. "Here there is guilt, pain, anger, confusion. In paradise, you'll be at peace. All of you." He looked at Dean with tired eyes. "Sam included."

"You can take your peace..." Dean started, bringing his face close to Castiel's and speaking in a low, dangerous voice. "And shove it up your lily-white ass. 'Cause I'll take the pain and the guilt. I'll even take Sam as is. It's a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in paradise. And you know what? Eli feels the same way. She rejected your little offer of becoming an angel. Rejected it for this shitty life of fear and confusion and danger." He paused, taking a steadying breath, and tried to speak in a less murderous tone. "This is simple, Cas! No more crap about being a good soldier. You never cared two shits about that anyway, right? You're just doing this because you're scared. There is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it."

Castiel started to turn away but Dean grabbed him by the shoulders. "Look at me! Or even better, look at her! After everything that has happened, you're just gonna walk away from her? She _trusted_ you! Hell, you're the real reason she's in this state anyway! If you hadn't…"

"Don't forget that your words have consequences to others," Castiel warned sharply before Dean could continue his rant, shooting a telling glance at Eli's prone form.

Dean's voice dropped; he couldn't believe it, but he was begging, actually begging. "All that human emotion you've been feeling? That's what real, Cas. Not heaven. Not orders. Not paradise. Help me, Cas. Help her. You can't abandon us now."

Castiel looked conflicted. "What would you have me do?" he asked in a hesitant voice, looking at Eli, who was attempting pull herself into a sitting position, her face scrunched up in pain.

"Get me to Sam," Dean pleaded. "We can stop this before it's too late."

Castiel gave him a hard stare. "I do that, we will all be hunted. We'll all be killed."

"If there is anything worth dying for... this is it," Dean said in his most passionate voice.

Castiel looked at him with pained eyes, then at Eli, who was pressing her back against the wall, still wincing and breathing too fast. She looked weak and fragile on the ground, like broken doll. He turned his face away, ashamed.

"You spineless, soulless, _heartless_ son of a bitch," Dean spat. "You don't deserve her. What do you care about dying? You're already dead." He walked away, kneeling by Eli's side to help steady her shaking shoulders and wipe cold sweat from her hot forehead. "We're done."

Castiel took a step toward them, his face crumpling. "Dean –"

"We're done!" Dean yelled. He turned back a second later, only to find the angel gone. He couldn't tell if he was disappointed or relieved.

* * *

"Here you go," Dean said an hour later, pressing a drink into her shaking hands. "I wish I could give you water, but all they got is beer."

Eli let out a weak laugh and leaned against the couch cushions. "This is fine. A little alcohol will probably do me good anyway. Thanks."

"You sure you're all right?" Dean asked, crouching in front of her and staring at her skin, which looked like rice paper, and the blue bags under her eyes. Even her freckles were washed out. "'Cause you look like hell."

"I'm fine, Dean," she said, taking a long drink. "They didn't want to seriously hurt me, just punish me. It's wearing off." She winced and held her hand to her rib cage. "Well, little by little."

"Guess it's a good thing you didn't take that stupid grace, huh?" Dean asked, watching her sip her beer with worried eyes. "Now that we know what total bastards they are."

"It would have put me completely under their power," Eli said tiredly. Her very bones ached, a deep pain that pushed at her joints and radiated through her lungs every time she took a breath. She took another drink, willing the alcohol to dull her senses. "And to think that I really believed I was gonna be some kind of warrior for heaven. Who was I kidding? These guys hate me. They probably just wanted me up there so they could lock me away where no one would ever find me again." A deep sense of betrayal flooded her system; the feel of it, sharp like cut glass, surpassed even the physical pain, and she scrunched her eyes shut, trying desperately to keep from crying.

Dean struggled with what to say, hating the look of despair on her face. "Hey, uh, you hungry? We got a whole plateful of burgers. Way too much for two people. I wonder if they really thought we'd eat all that food."

Eli forced out a small laugh and blinked rapidly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Yeah, okay. I'll take a burger."

"Best burgers in the world, if they were telling the truth about where they came from," Dean promised, getting up and walking over to the table. "Hey, it might be the end of the world and we might have just been seriously fucked over by heaven itself, but at least we can eat well, right?" He picked a burger up off of the tray.

Out of nowhere, someone grabbed Dean by the arm and spun him around, slamming the startled hunter into the wall and pressing a hand over his mouth.

Eli half-stood, mouthing a name but not saying it out loud, and began to walk towards them. He shot her a glance that seemed to contain all of the determination and self-hatred in the world, then let go of Dean and drew Ruby's knife from his pocket, slicing open his arm and using the blood to draw red, wet symbols on the pristine wall.

"Castiel!" a voice boomed. Zachariah appeared in the room, his whole body vibrating with furious confusion. He began to walk toward Castiel with murderous intent. "Would you mind explaining just what the hell you're doing?"

Eli was now standing next to Dean. The dark-haired angel finished his work, grabbed Eli's hand, and slammed both of theirs into the center of the circle at the same time. White light erupted from it, flooding the room and blowing Zachariah away like he was made of dust.

"I had to use you," Castiel explained to Eli, whose hand was now slick with blood, "so that your soul wouldn't be banished as well." He touched her forehead briefly, and Eli felt the pain clear out of her lungs and limbs as if it had never been. He turned to Dean. "He won't be gone long. We have to find Sam now."

"Where is he?" Dean demanded.

"I don't know. But I know who does." His words took on a new franticness. "We have to stop him from killing Lilith."

"But Lilith's gonna break the final seal," Dean countered. Castiel shook his head fiercely.

"Lilith _is_ the final seal. She dies, the end begins."

* * *

They appeared in the middle of Chuck's filthy kitchen. The prophet was on the phone and pacing, but stopped dead when he saw them standing there.

"Wait. T-t-this isn't supposed to happen," he stuttered, taking in the three exhausted and tense faces. He muttered something into the phone and hung up, drawing his old bathrobe around him nervously. "What's going on?"

"Where is this all going down?" Dean demanded. "Where's Sam?"

Chuck audibly gulped. "Saint Mary's. In Ilchester, Maryland."

Dean glanced at Eli and Castiel with confusion. "Saint Mary's? What is it, a convent?"

"Yeah, but you guys aren't supposed to be there. You're not in this story." He looked pointedly at Eli, who was wiping the blood from her palm onto her cargo pants. "Especially you. The angels were very specific. They said that you can't be anywhere near Lucifer's cell when he wakes up."

"Yeah, well, we're pretty sick of listening to angels," Dean said. "At this point, I'd say it's opposite day."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked roughly. Dean shot them a cold smile.

"It means that the angels don't want Eli to be there, so she's definitely gonna be there." He looked down at her. "They don't want this thing to stop. Who knows, maybe you'll be the one to stop it."

Eli nodded fiercely. "No way in hell you can keep me out of the game now."

Like a slow-motion explosion, the room began to rumble and shake, white light flooding through the windows. Eli felt the same shaking sensation that she had before, but this time it was less noticeable and she was able to keep herself together. She realized that it was probably because of her power increase.

"Aw, man!" Chuck moaned, covering his head with his hands. "Not again!"

"It's the Archangel!" Castiel yelled over the roaring noise. Cabinets flew open, plates tipping and crashing to the floor. The ceiling cracked, a wide split the rained dust and plaster onto their heads. "I'll hold him off! I'll hold them all off!"

"Cas!" Eli screamed, and he looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in what seemed like forever. The light was near-blinding, illuminating his body like a halo, his trench coat lifting around him in the heavenly wind. She grabbed his shirt and yanked him to her, kissing him for one last brief time; he kissed her back, and there was something in it that tasted like tears, like an apology. He pulled away, touching her cheek lightly, then turned to Dean.

"Stop Sam!" he yelled, and clasped a hand on each of their foreheads.

* * *

The air at the convent was thin and cold. Eli and Dean hit the ground with startling cracks, their breath steaming white around their faces.

They stumbled, dazed, the ancient stone hard and uneven under their feet, and took in their surroundings for a second before Dean spotted the open door at the end of the covered walkway and screamed: "There!"

They tore down the hall as fast as they could, but only steps away from their destination Ruby turned and smiled at them. She winked at Eli, then raised her hand and the doors slammed shut.

"Damnit!" Dean yelled as he pounded on the wood. It didn't budge; it was old and sturdy, hardened by time into something unbreakable. He spun on Eli. "Well? Do your thing! Get us in there!"

Eli's eyes were squeezed shut. "I can't!" she cried desperately. "Lilith's got the whole place on lockdown. Blocking spells everywhere. I can't do anything!"

"Then what good are you?" Dean snapped. He cast his gaze around and spotted the two tall candelabras framing the archway. "Grab one!" he shouted, going for his own. "Help me break it down!"

Eli pulled the heavy piece of bronze off of the ground, hefted it in her hands, and slammed it into the door with all of her might.

* * *

Blood spilled from Lilith's lifeless body in a thick, viscous circle across the floor as if pulled by an invisible force. Snaking lines began to spool from the main arc, dripping insidiously toward the center.

"You opened the door," Ruby said with awe and reverence in her voice. "And now he's free at last. He's free at last!"

Sam backed away from the circle, shaking his head in horror. "No, no, no. No, he - Lilith - I stopped her. I killed her!"

Ruby approached him, her dark eyes shining with unholy light. " _'And it is written that the first demon shall be the last seal.'_ And you bust her open. Now guess who's coming to dinner."

"Oh, my God," Sam muttered in despair. Ruby shook her head, smirking wickedly at him.

"Guess again."

The pounding continued at the door. Through the thick wood Sam could dimly hear Dean and Eli's voices shouting hoarsely.

Ruby continued to rant, oblivious to the two hunters trying desperately to get in. "You don't even know how hard this was! All the demons out for my head. No one knew. I was the best of those sons of bitches! The most loyal! Not even Alistair knew! Only Lilith!" With every exclamation she took another step forward until they were almost touching, her whole face lit up with an insane, victorious smile. "Yeah, I'm sure you're a little angry right now, but I mean, come on, Sam! Even you have to admit - I'm awesome!"

"You bitch," Sam yelled, snapping out of his stupor and thrusting his hands toward her in rage. "You lying bitch!"

A light wind blew through the demon's hair, but besides that, nothing happened. Sam tried harder, pouring all of his energy out of his body, but he was too weak. He dropped to his knees, drained and shaky, his head pounding, and tried not to vomit.

"Don't hurt yourself, Sammy," Ruby said smugly. "It's useless. You shot your payload on the boss."

"The blood," he gasped out, looking at her with hatred in his eyes. "You poisoned me."

Ruby knelt in front of him and stroked his hair gently. "No. It wasn't the blood. It was you... and your choices. I just gave you the options, and you chose the right path every time." She sounded like a proud mother comforting a crying child. "I know it's hard to see it now, but this is a miracle. So long coming. Everything Azazel did, and Lilith did. Just to get you here. And you were the only one who could do it."

"Why? W-why me?" Sam whimpered, feeling a hole of desolation open in his chest, dark and dank and so very empty, like he could just fall into it and keep falling for forever.

"Because... because it had to be you, Sammy," she crooned. "It always had to be you. You saved us. You set him free. And he's gonna be grateful. He's gonna repay you in ways that you can't even imagine." She paused, glee and pride radiating from every pore in her body. "You did one more thing, Sam. Something no one could have expected you would do. Something amazing."

"And what was that?" he asked weakly. Ruby smiled at him, all teeth.

"You are the best, Sam. Not only did you set him free, but you brought him what he needs to ravage the land. You brought him the best weapon he could ever dream of." From the pocket of her jacket she pulled out the silver circlet that he had stolen from Bobby's safe. "And we're gonna win, because of you! We're gonna win without even trying!"

"That…it's a weapon?" Sam gasped out. "I thought it was some sort of binding…"

"It is binding, Sam," she said, holding it up to the light. "But it's not the weapon. You brought both with you tonight. The collar…and the dog."

At that moment the doors finally burst open and Dean and Eli came striding in. Ruby stood and smirked, hands on her hips.

"Oh, Eli," she crowed joyfully. "He is gonna be _so_ happy to see you." Then she turned to Dean and her smile became triumphant. "You're too late."

Dean advanced on her. "I don't care."

Sam was on his feet in an instant, his arms twisting the demon's hands behind her back, leaving her helpless. The collar went flying from her grasp. There was the plunge of sharp metal into flesh as the Knife was buried in her stomach; Ruby gasped, a weak red light flickering behind her skull like dim, unholy fire. Dean twisted the Knife with grim satisfaction until her eyes rolled back in her head and the light sputtered and went out.

Sam pushed her lifeless body out of the way, watching as it crumpled like a doll to the floor. He turned to face his brother, his face a mask of anguish. "I'm sorry," he said brokenly. "I'm so sorry."

Behind them, the blood crept closer, finally meeting at the center point. There was a burst of the most brilliant, blinding light, and then the floor began to twist and warp, forming itself into a circle that kept growing and growing. The walls began to tremble, stone and dust tumbling to the floor.

"Sammy, Eli, let's go," Dean commanded, fisting his hand into his brother's shirt. Sam clutched his arm.

"Wait! Ruby, she had a…"

"I don't care! We get out of here now or we're all dead!" Dean snapped, fairly dragging his brother away. As if waking from a stupor the three hunters jerked to attention and began to run, the hallway beckoning them with the promise of escape.

The heavy doors swung shut with a blast just as they reached them. Eli pounded helplessly on the ancient wood for a minute, but it didn't budge. The candelabras they had used to bust in were outside, useless. The binding spells that blocked teleportation still held, stronger now than ever, as if feeding off of the rays of energy being emitted as the cage inched open. She drew in one long, shaking breath, blinking back hot wetness from her eyes, then turned to the brothers with determination.

"You guys keep trying to break through!" she yelled, stepping backward toward the light. Dean grabbed her arm.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted over the rushing of wind. Inside of her head, Eli could hear the same ringing and feel the same bone-shattering shaking of the molecules that she had felt in the other Archangel's presence, but now it was bearable.

"To hold him off!"

"Eli, you're not strong enough!" Sam yelled, pushing frantically at the door. She turned to him, hair whipping in her face.

"I'm stronger than I was!" She glanced at Dean, knowing he would know what she meant. "There's no time to argue. The end is seriously fucking nigh and you guys have to get out alive! I won't be able to hold him for long, but I can buy you one, maybe two minutes!" she shouted. "You two just break down that door and get the hell out of here!"

"Eli, no!" Dean screamed, but it was too late. Eli wrenched herself from his grasp and went running; she leapt, her feet leaving the ground in a graceful arc, hair flying wildly around her head, and dove straight into the center of the blasting column of light.

It was strangely pleasant inside, like being wrapped up in a womb. Eli found herself floating, feet hovering off of the floor; everything was totally still, despite the whirlwind of destruction around her. She held out her hands, palms downward, and concentrated.

She could feel the cage in her mind; it was like a rusty door creaking open, slowly swinging forward. She focused all of her energy on one central point, pouring everything she had into making it stop. As she expected, it didn't do much, but the door did swing open fractionally slower.

Still, the Winchesters were not out. She could hear their frantic smashings at the door as if from underwater. There was no sound inside of the light, not even the horrible angelic ringing. Just silence and white and the sense of that huge, heavy cage and whatever lurked inside it.

" _Elijah_ ," a voice whispered in the back of her mind. She forced it out, pushing with all of her power at the door. Her eyes went totally green, the color edging out to the sides and swallowing up the pupil, and blood began to gush freely from her nose. Her head screamed in agony.

" _Elijah,"_ it whispered again. _"You are going to die…I will rip you apart."_ There was a note of triumph buried in that sibilant sound.

Finally Eli couldn't take it anymore. The last of her power sputtered and went out; she was so exhausted, barely able to breathe, to keep herself together. She let her head fall back, still hovering suspended in white luminosity, her clothes and hair floating around her arched figure, giving her the appearance of a drowned girl. At the door there was nothing but silence. Eli hoped against hope that the Winchesters had escaped.

A familiar tingling, feathery feeling began to drift down her arms. She held them in front of her, watching with morbid fascination as her hands, then her wrists and elbows, began to disintegrate and float away. She turned to look at the door, only to find that Sam and Dean had given up and were standing there helplessly, watching her get eaten by the light.

Then it became too blinding to see. Eli closed her eyes. In her mind she could see his brilliant blue eyes, feel the warmth of his presence, the soft press of his lips against her forehead. She was sure that he had not survived his confrontation with the Archangel. Maybe now, they could be…

The light roared to encompass the whole room, the forgotten collar tipping into it as if pulled by an invisible hand.

And then there was nothing.

 

**To Be Continued in Book Two: Of The World**


End file.
